Tasting Sin
by Leia1912
Summary: What's the most delicious thing you've ever seen? Poor Sookie's about to find out. Eric/Sookie fluff in the vein of the early SVM books: a lot of romance, comedy, action. (CANON THROUGH BOOK 8; INCORPORATES IDEAS FROM LATER BOOKS, BUT NOT DEA.)
1. Chapter 1

Pam had shown me into Eric's dark office. The place could use a cleaning, to my eyes, but I knew not to mention it--Lord knows Eric had more on his mind lately than dusting, what with the Vegas takeover and all. He'd even forgotten to change the calendar, apparently; I leaned forward, trying to see across his desk.

"Well, I'll be damned," I muttered. But it fit; of *course* Eric would have kept his own page open on the Fangtasia calendar. Why bother with the date when you can look at your own glorious ass?

As I was mesmerized--by the artistic value of the picture, I'll have you know--I was interrupted. Of course.

"I thought I gave you your own copies. Are you needing more?"

I gasped and jumped--natural, when you're surrounded by vamps most of the time--around. Eric looked very satisfied at my reaction. Of course, he looked immensely satisfied at just about any reaction he got out of me. But some he liked better--

Okay, enough thinking about that.

"Where were you? You said to be here at 8."

"So I did." He walked around my chair, tossing a large white bag on the wallside rack. "Costco. You silly humans create the most unfortunate messes and we needed supplies. Which reminds me." He paused to reach into the bag. "Looks like your tiger, doesn't it?"

I shoved Mr. Clean back at him. "Oh, for pete's sake, Eric, aren't we past name-calling?"

"A spade is a spade, lover," he said, shrugging. He dropped the cleaner back on the rack and peeled off his leather jacket thoughtlessly, before flopping in his desk chair. It tilted back for him obligingly. My mind barely registered that. For Eric was wearing a simple, form-fitting, sleeveless black t-shirt. Normally, they say, black's supposed to cover sins. That's why I like it for jeans, y'know. In Eric's case, black was all for setting off his sins. In particular, a body that would have made Adonis weep--big, cut shoulders, with muscle indents that looked about as inventing as a bowl of ice--

"Sookie, you've been around your shifter too long."

I blinked; I'd like to say the spell was broken, but his shoulders were still bare. And, oh, God, those arms. "Huh?"

He smirked at me. "You're drooling, lover." A blond eyebrow arched naughtily. "Has it been so long without me?"

Well, that busted my chops. "Oh, get real. I was just thinking about dinner. I was at work and didn't get to eat, y'know!"

"Right." He smiled serenely at me. "So, you are *hungry*. Let's see what I can do for you. Would you like some....meat? Like...."

"Don't you even say it!" I waved a finger at him. "Remember I am a lady!"

"Of course." His white fangs flashed at me. "As if I ever forget."

He probably heard me snort at that. Hell, the majority of Fangtasia probably heard me snort at that. Instead of responding though, he just stretched. His broad chest moved outwards and upwards as it took in air, and as he bent his arms behind his head, the roping muscles of his arms stood out in perfectly sloping silhouettes. His biceps seemed to glow beside the little light on his desk.

I bit my tongue this time, to keep it from flopping outwards. I managed, with great pain, to drag my eyes back to his face, which was strangely still and test. His eyes were blue blazing slits, regarding me; his mouth, a flat line. It didn't take a telepath to figure out what this vamp was thinking: prey.

Before I could shiver, cry out, or rip either of our clothes off, though, a single rapid knock struck the door and Pam strode in sharply.


	2. Chapter 2

Before I could shiver, cry out, or rip either of our clothes off, though, a single rapid knock struck the door and Pam strode in sharply.

Eric's look was hardly welcoming, but she appeared not to notice. "Do you have the receipts for the store run? I need to put them away before you lose them again. The accountant says we could really save money with these deductions." She abruptly glanced over at me. "Oh, hello, Sookie. I didn't think you'd still be…here." She winked.

And once again, being amidst vampires left me utterly confused. "Pam," Eric said, in a dark tone, and she just smirked and turned back to him.

"Yes, Eric?"

He huffed, seemingly unwilling to continue whatever silly silent vamp-chat they were having. He rose--and rose, and rose; Eric's the definition of Big and Tall, and I don't just mean his height--to his feet, jamming his hands into his jeans for his wallet. I was not, of course, entirely disinterested in this process but Pam found it expedient to talk to me again.

No, I didn't cuss her. But I thought about it.

She must've known my mood, because she just smiled. "So tell me, Sookie, is that tiger still coming around?" Behind her, Eric paused briefly as he stuffed his wallet back into his pocket.

"I don't talk about my personal life, Pam."

"Oh, I need to know; we always do a Christmas party, you know, and I would want to have the right presents on hand for him." Pam's gleaming smile indicated she no more expected to me believe this than she expected me to stand up and start hula-dancing on the spot.

"I'm sure Dear Abby would agree," I muttered darkly. My eye was caught again by movement behind Pam--Eric was stretching again. Why? Why did he have to do this to me? I turned my eyes resolutely back to Pam.

Her eyes were dark and her smile, faded, abruptly flashed again. She looked back over her shoulder. "Which reminds me. The waitresses are complaining our back room is too dry, because of the heating. They say we need a--what's that device called, the kind that creates steam?"

"A humidifier," I supplied thoughtlessly. Eric was nodding to all of this, grabbing a bottle of some kind from his desk drawer and squirting something into his hands. Oh, oh, my.

"Oh, that's the Jergen's, isn't it?" Pam asked, sniffing delicately. Her eyes flicked closed, as if this helped her to scent the air. Why she bothered with that scent when a Viking god sat before us, slowly drawing his hands up his own bare arms, was beyond me. "Much better than that awful one you had before. It was supposed to be scentless," she added, for my benefit, I suppose. I guess she noticed my expression. "What do you think, Sookie? Is it scentless to you?"

I stared unabashedly as Eric continued to draw his hand slowly up the bare pillar that was his left forearm, making the golden hairs there slick back, and up across his bicep, the kind of bicep that you just know could lift any girl, including one with curves like me, and right into that indent that looked like it could fit the tip of my tongue--

"Sookie?" that damned Pam persisted.

I swallowed rapidly. Eric, still silent, was peering at me beneath his lashes, bolts of blue that made it difficult for me to breathe. Or to keep my hands to myself. Whichever need was stronger at the moment, I don't know.

"Er, yeah, unscented," I managed to bleat out, squirming hopelessly. Eric flicked me a lazy smile, still quiet. Quinn might have been a tiger by nature, but Eric was very much a big cat himself--languid, powerful, and dangerous.

Pam smiled brightly as I shook myself and started to reach for my purse, pretending to look at my cell phone--anything to get away from the thoughts of "helping" Eric with that lotion. All over. "So, what did you guys want me for?"

"Everything, of course." Eric made it sound obscene. Then again, Eric could make the Lord's Prayer sound filthy. It didn't help that he'd left one of his obnoxious text messages on my phone, apparently while he was out at Costo--"BRB, getting silk sheets for us, lover. I hope they give you as much pleasure as I will. Yield to me. Kthnxbye." I snorted and kept my eyes on the phone, looking over old messages, just to keep my eyes down. It was actually mostly a series of messages from Eric and Jason--Eric messaging me for sex, Jason messaging me for money and beer, and both getting the same answer--but I felt it was better than being glamoured by Eric's damn delts again. (Deltoid was my Word of the Day. I should've known.) "Do you have a…message?" In his lightly accented English, the word sounded like "massage." I cringed. _Don't look up, Sookie, don't look up._

"Nope, nothing important." I knew better than to pretend I was getting messages from Quinn or Alcide--Lord knows Eric would feel no compunction about picking my pocket and having a look at my phone behind my back. That's the nice thing about Eric: You definitely know what he's capable of: everything.

Pam smoothed the leather of her glove impatiently. "Sookie, we need you to test some of the food we're making."

"What am I, the court taster?" Eric guffawed. This time, I did shoot him a glare. I knew exactly where his mind was going.

Pam did, too. She smiled with fang, her sign of appreciation. Somehow, it didn't warm the cockles of my heart. "Really, Sookie, you need more faith in us. You keeping trying to die and we're the ones who keep saving you."

"More like the other way around. But tell me what you needed."

"It's simple, really." Eric put his feet on the floor and swiveled to face me. "Pam thought Fangtasia would do better with the customers if we offered more in the desert line. For mortals, that is." He grinned and I saw his fangs half-extended. Only a depraved woman would consider that sexy. I made a note to call a psychologist the next day. "And since our tastes in these areas run counter to yours…"

"And you couldn't just, y'know, ask the waitresses? Have a tasting party?" I couldn't believe I'd been hauled all the way to Shreveport just to eat some cake. Unless it was **really** good cake. I paused. "This isn't going to be some dirty thing, is it? You're not going to try to serve me cookies shaped like--like--" I'm sure I got redder with every stammer. Across from me, **his** reaction didn't help at all. Eric's eyes widened as he gathered the tenor of my thoughts, and he began to laugh.

"Like what?" Pam seemed genuinely baffled.

"Things that aren't ladylike," I huffed, at the same time that Eric replied. "*A gracious plenty* of sugar, Pam." Now his fangs were fully straightened; I had no doubt, from the look in his eyes, other parts were as well. "Something of which Sookie dreams…"

"You wish."

"Oh, I do."

"I so did not need to know that."

Pam interrupted before he could mortify me further. I'm sure I was blood red by then. Maybe that's why Eric is always after me--I turn the color of his Corvette when he's teasing me. "If you two are done mating in front of me, I'd like to carry on. Now. The desserts." She smiled brightly. "I've been watching on Martha Stewart, Sookie, and I helped design a bunch of items for Fangtasia. I think it will help to add a bit of class to the bar, and you know we need that." She shot Eric a pointed look. His eyebrow went up, quite unrepentant. "And you represent more of the customers we'd like to have--" Eric's eyes as Pam said this underlined this point; I looked away-- "--so I want to see if they're to your satisfaction."

I wanted to protest--after all, it's not like I needed extra sugar, what with the size 10 jeans I just bought; but it's after Halloween, and who doesn't gain a few then?--but I knew calling attention to my body anywhere that Eric is would end in a bad place. Or maybe a good place. Damn it! I don't know if the bond flared or what, but Eric seemed to be smiling at me across the desk again. I looked away.

"Sure, fine, whatever."

And then came the waitresses, streaming into the office one-by-one with dishes, as Pam and Eric watched me eat as if it were an Olympic sport. I tried to ignore them--didn't they know it wasn't polite to stare?--and focus on the task at hand. Bite, bite, gulp some water, move on. I still had to drive home, and a full belly was just going to make me sleepy.

It was worth it, anyway. The first dessert was some kind of layer cake confection with bits of coconut on top--it reminded me of a wedding cake you'd see in a celebrity wedding. I pronounced it acceptable, which made Pam beam; you could tell she'd picked that one. The second was a deep berry pie, which didn't much impress me; Gran's pies were much better. Eric scowled; I guess he associated all red things with tastiness. I didn't dwell on that thought much.

Pam oversaw the removal of my dishes. "Next one, whore!" I heard Pam yell in front of the office; she apparently had adapted her staff management techniques from her style with the fangbanger guests. "And here's the last one," she announced, waving a tray with a multi-tiered sundae on it. It sure looked pretty enough to eat--some white ice cream, probably vanilla, drenched with cherry sauce and chocolate of some kind. The problem was that Pam was about as good as waitressing as Eric was at sweeping. With a loud _plop_, the sundae flew off the tray and landed directly on the Viking vampire across from us.

"Oh, dear," said Pam. "Did I do that?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh, dear," said Pam. "Did I do that?"

That Pam.

We both regarded the silent, no doubt highly pissed, victim of this sugar attack. Eric had ice cream smeared across his chest and abdomen. He flicked an eyebrow up. "I think that'll be enough, Pam." She gave him a twisted little grin, grabbed the sundae dish and tray, and sauntered out of the room. If you didn't know better, you'd think she'd just had a sundae herself. Maybe she'd always dreamed of dumping a mess on Eric, I don't know. He **could** be an annoying bastard.

Speaking of the devil: "I told you humans made messes," he was saying, his lip curled slightly in distaste as he mopped ice cream off of his chest with a few paper towels. "And Pam's apparently intent on proving me wrong." I watched his long, blunt-tipped fingers as they rolled the base of his tank up, then smoothly pulled the shirt upwards and over his head, which he just had to shake, sending his golden mane flying about his face. His big hand reached up to fluff the mane back in place--"Well, Sookie, let us remember not to have Pam substitute for any of the waitresses on their nights off."

He might've said that, anyway. I was only half-listening. Hey, I'm a human woman, remember? I've got hormones. And it had been a while, after all. And of course, I was staring at a half-naked god of a man, his hands resting on the hips of his low-slung jeans, as rivulets of ice cream and sauce ran down those arms.

"Is that--chocolate?" I managed.

"So I gather." He touched a finger lightly to a thick drop on his upper chest, and held it to his nose hesitantly. "Certainly smells like it. Hmmm." His tongue flicked out and lapped delicately at his fingers.

He must've felt my reaction to that, because he sent a sly look my way. "You're tasting the chocolate? I thought you couldn't have anything but--"

"I can make an exception sometimes. For special occasions." He smirked, and his fangs glinted in the light. "It's really quite good. Pity you couldn't have any. But still--" and here he held out his arm to me--"care for a taste?"

"Don't be disgusting!"

"I'm quite sanitary, I promise," he leered helpfully at me. "Helpfully" in the sense that I could feel my clothing seeking to work its way from my skin just at the sight of that smile. "Or are you just too good a girl?'

I was annoyed, I was horny as hell, and I really have no explanation for what happened next.

I licked him.


	4. Chapter 4

I licked him.

I'd stomped around that desk before I knew it, and acted on all of those impulses that had set my body tingling. I ran my tongue over the hard rounded skin of his bicep, catching a bit of the sauce (chocolate-raspberry) in my mouth, and it was incredible, I'll give you that. The only problem is what happened next.

There's really no booklet for how to deal with vamps. I should write one. I guess one of my first rules--after "Don't get bitten," and "Don't hang out with vampire hos"--would be "Don't expect a Supe not to notice when your tongue is on him." Or maybe that's a general truism?

Faster than you could say "Jack Flash," Eric had grabbed me and thrust me on his desk, sending papers and what appeared to be action figures flying. "Let's put that to better use," he said, before his mouth clamped on mine, soft, hot, and unyielding. I twisted beneath him, feeling the tingling burn of his stubble against my cheeks, the hot chocolate sauce sliding under my fingers as I groped his arm frantically, instinctively. Our lips broke just as my lung felt liable to explode; as I gulped air, he wasted no time transferring his attentions to my neck. "I may have to fuck you right now, Sookie Stackhouse." He pushed his hips into mine; he was surely telling the truth.

A small, rational part of my mind managed to withstand the onslaught. "Nooo….." If my voice came out as a moan, I grant you, it was because my body was on an entirely different wavelength.

"Yesssss," he hissed into the nape of my neck; I arched it for him and his chest rumbled happily. From the motion of his hips (and mine, I'll admit), something else was happy, too.

His hands were everywhere--Eric's nothing if not an opportunist, after all, and he was making the most of the chance. My shirt went flying, thanks to an overenthusiastic Viking, and suddenly my chest was sliding against the sticky, sauced skin of his. I'm normally one for hygiene, but I have to say, there's something to be said to being your own sundae.

Eric certainly thought so--he bent his head, and I felt a mix of fang and tongue sweeping across my upper breasts, lapping at the ice cream and sauce that had transferred to me. "Remind me to buy this in gallons," he exclaimed hotly. "Right now, it's better than blood."

"I'll remember that when you go nuts the next time I've got a paper cut," I gasped. What kind of woman was I? Oh, yes. I felt our hips still churning together. A very lucky one.

I could feel the chocolate still on his tongue when his mouth reclaimed mine, his tongue mimicking his hips below, and neither missing a very, very necessary beat; I gulped for air, finding a trail of sauce on my jaw, and then his tongue, where his mouth had been before. "Eric….."

"Feel free to scream it," he whispered helpfully in my ear. His tongue flicked there next--he seemed to remember that was a definite spot for mine. I moaned wordlessly, melted like the chocolate that was now all over us. Oh, hell. I reached down and grabbed that fine ass for all it was worth and turned my mouth back to his; he rewarded me by a slower grind of the hips that promised quite a lot of treats ahead.

And of course, with my legs around his hips, my hands molded to his ass, and my boobs on display for all the world to see--and that's not to say anything of the Viking who was set on re-enacting a biology lesson on top of me--the door flopped open.

"Eric, you do know the board of hygiene visits of us regularly." Pam shot us a look. It'd be entirely reproving, but I saw the turn of her lips; no, this was the stuff she dreamed of. The kind of stuff with which to torment Eric for ages, and embarrass me for more than that. "Nice to see you again, Sookie." She smirked and stepped out.

Eric looked down at me, those blue eyes still blazing. His grin was unrepentant, though--just enough that I began shoving at those glorious pecs where my tongue had just been. "Up, up, that's it, Eric. Augh! I can't believe we--"

"Oh, yes. I can only not believe we're stopping." He stood back and drew his hands slowly down his chest. "Want more dessert?"


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh, yes. I can only not believe we're stopping." He stood back and drew his hands slowly down his chest. "Want more dessert?"

Eric definitely had the power to smolder, but at the moment--sticky, more than a little embarrassed, and still running on hormones--I wasn't ready to have it. "Oh, get real," I muttered. Thanks to our, um, intense oral inspection session, my upper body was glistening with the smear of all different kinds of goo. And, of course, I was still standing there in nothing but my bra, and who knows who would come barging in on us next.

Fortunately, I'm nothing if not resourceful. I grabbed some tissue off the desk and my water and used it to swab at my chest. "Ugh."

"Hrm?"

I glanced over. Eric was watching my attempt to clean up with unconcealed interest. And unconcealed something else, I thought, as his tongue flicked out to lick his lips, just as a drop of water slid coldly down into my cleavage. "What _are_ you doing?" I asked before thinking.

This is always a bad habit, with Eric. Talking to him is a bit like talking to a drunken God: You might find out answers you don't want to know. In typical Eric style, he responded easily, "Oh, gathering material for….my personal use." He smiled, but his eyes weren't on my face. "Cold?"

"Gah! Eric!" I spun away. Granted, he'd seen every inch of Sookie Stackhouse before--and now that he remembered our encounters, he loved to remind me of them--but still. I wasn't ready to be his peep show.

Right at my ear, I heard a low purr. "Need help with that?" I would've screamed and swatted him away, but he touched me, damn it all to hell. I froze as his fingers wandered down from my breastbone, trailing the tissue with them.

"I've got it all," I choked.

He chuckled softly, again, right at my ear. He started tracing the Kleenex over my skin. The world could've exploded all around us by then and I doubt I'd have noticed. "Are you quite sure?" I nodded numbly. "Did I soil your lovely lingerie? What beautiful lace." It was a $5 bra from the TJ Maxx clearance rack, but his fingers were slowly tracing the lace on it as if it were the Victoria's Secret holiday special. "Why, you_ are _cold, I see." He might've seen it, but my body was feeling something entirely different. I groaned, my palms sliding helplessly against his jeans-clad thighs. His lower body moved restlessly, his big hands shifted. I had my doubts that the goo had managed to slide down into my bra, but Eric's clever fingers slipped there, "just to check, lover," as he murmured in my ear, making the skin in my inner ear vibrate and a place far to the south do the same.

With a supreme act of will--all of those years being Jason's sister had made me a real masochist, I guess--I shoved away from those tormenting hands. "No, Eric, not now." I folded my arms over my chest, just to underline the point. And to get his eyes up to the north. Whether they're dead or not, I guess guys can't pay attention around a girl in just her bra, particularly when she's blessed in the bosom department, like me. "Where's my shirt?"

Eric pouted but he did at least make a half-hearted effort to locate it. As he should've, as it was his own damn fault it ended up on the ceiling lamp. He fished it down for me, but I saw quickly it wouldn't have been any use--beyond being smeared with ice cream goo, it was also torn in half from the neck down. Eric apparently had set out to prove all of those Cosmo articles ("The Wildness of Vampire Sex: Making Monster Love the Right Way!") right. In the moment, I'd appreciated it, but now, trying fruitlessly to pull my Merlotte's work shirt together over my boobs (which Eric was still eyeing far too appreciatively), I was just plain pissed. "Damn it, Eric!"

"You should be naked more often. It suits you." He was nonplussed. Of course, he was also half-naked, I noticed, as he opened a closet by the door. I recognized it from the time when Pam had lent me a shirt, after the maenad attacked me. That would be the first time I was undressed around Eric. The memory made me pause and shoot a look around the room--he didn't have surveillance cameras at the time (he'd often lamented the fact he didn't have the video)--but now…

"Still no cameras, alas." He was dangling a t-shirt in front of me, a bemused expression on his face. "You do give me a lot of fond memories, though, Sookie."

"Welcome." My sour tone was slightly muffled as I jerked the shirt over my head, catching a faint whiff of Eric's cologne as I did so.

"My head popped out to see his big smile aimed at me. "You look very cute with my shirt on. Not as good as you look naked, of course, but very cute."

"Yeah, sure." I groped for the doorknob behind me with my free hand. "Look, Eric, it's been fun, but I ought to get home--"

He had a hand on either side of my head in a second. "And no good-bye?"

"I was just _saying_ good bye."

"That's not a proper goodbye for me, lover," he grinned into my face. I do mean "into my face" as he'd bent down so we were almost nose to nose. I don't know what kind of skin cleanser Vikings used, but I have to say, his skin was fabulous. Of course, he didn't have to worry about sun damage. I lifted my eyes to where the crinkles formed by his smiling eyes, drawn by the movement of the skin, and felt myself falling into those twinkling depths. I guess most people think of red and black as the "scary" colors, but at the moment, it was blue that was very dangerous for me. "I'll call the shifter. He'll have a new blouse for you tomorrow." He seemed remarkably pleased with himself for a man who had been interrupted; goodness knows a large part of me was wanting to either scream or floor it back to home, for a bit of privacy, and I was still squirming a bit against the door behind us, thanks to what he'd released in me. That just made me angrier with him: how could he be so serene when he'd gotten me all worked up like this? My temper, I mean.

"I'm not worried about the shirt."

"Oh?" His eyes lit up. "Is your shifter turning the bar into a topless bar? That'd be fun!"

"For you, maybe." I poked his chest for emphasis and to hint he could shift away any time now. He ignored me. Of course.

"Oh, yes." He smiled again. "I'll be your biggest tipper."


	6. Chapter 6

"Oh, yes." He smiled again. "I'll be your biggest tipper."

"Yeah, right." I wiggled away from that wicked grin. "Shouldn't you be getting cleaned up, anyway? Or do you plan on wearing ice cream all night?"

I could've bitten my tongue at that, and he laughed at my expression, just wiggling his eyebrows suggestively instead of making the obvious comment. "I supposed you're right. May I?" I handed him my water bottle as he pushed away from the door, plucking a few new tissues from the box. "Which reminds me: Didn't I say once you're always responsible for the destruction of my shirts? It's happened yet again."

"It's hardly my fault. Blame Pam." I tried not to watch as he dabbed at his chest with the wet tissues. I failed utterly. He noted my interest and smiled, started to slowly stroke down his chest, making a barely inaudible…_moaning_…noise at the same time. It was far, far too easy to imagine him doing something other than mopping up ice cream at that moment.

"Okay, that's enough of that!" I stomped forward and grabbed the Kleenex from his hand. "You may be one thousand years old, but you're no more mature than a teenage boy." I glared at him before he could say anything; he shut his mouth with an air of supreme, shocked innocence. It was almost convincing--he did have an angel's face, after all--but he also had a devil's eye. I looked back at the wall of rippling muscle directly in front of me, wiping down his chest methodically.

"This would have been a lot easier if we'd just used the employee shower," he murmured, and I ignored him. I finally raised my eyes to his face again, looking with a critical eye at my work.

"Damn it, you've got more right on your jaw. Hang on." He obediently stood as I went up on tip-toe with the Kleenex, rubbing the splotch of sauce off his evening beard. If I thought he were some kind of trained vamp, I was wrong--he took the opportunity to turn his head swiftly, nipping lightly at my fingers.

"Stop that, you." I admit, I couldn't help giggling a bit, but that stopped abruptly when he caught my fingers with his mouth, sucking on them pointedly.

"Ohhhhh…."

The door bounced open yet again. "Are you two incapable of staying dressed? Really." It was Pam, standing there looking smug.

Eric managed to pull a t-shirt on without the slightest trace of embarrassment. Me, I was torn between another dose of mortification and the desire to stake Pam. "What is it now, Pam?"

"I was just checking in on you," she said tartly. "The servers are afraid to come in this room, for some reason. Can't imagine why."

"Scared to turn their backs on you?" I grumbled.

Pam smiled sweetly at my retort. "Actually, Sookie, I have to pass on a message. There's a cute guy at the bar who wanted to meet you or give you his number."

Behind us, the vampire currently trying to reassemble his paperwork grunted. "Nice try. Sookie hasn't even been out in the bar tonight--you came in through the staff entrance, right, Sookie?"

"Yeah, but, um, I actually did go out there for water earlier…" My voice trailed off as I felt a set of eyes bore into me.

Ahead of me, Pam pulled a clip of paper from her leather gauntlet. "Well, here's his number. He saw you and thought you were real cute. You should check him out. He's not bad at all, if you're into tall, dark and handsome."

"This is all very charming, ladies." Eric didn't seem to appreciate our girl time. "The garbage can is right there--be sure to throw that trash away, Sookie."

"Why should she?" Pam rounded on her maker, and Eric gave her a stony look. "She's a single girl, after all. It's not like she's dating _you, _after all."

"That will be enough, Pam." His voice was cold.

To my mild shock, Pam deliberately spun away, ignoring him. She winked at me. "That bar guy was a pretty sight. Actually, he looks like Bill."

"Did he have a vampire ho maker draped on him, by chance?" Okay, that was a low blow, but I couldn't help myself. I might have forgiven Bill, but I wasn't stupid enough to forget what he'd done to me.

"No, or I'd have staked the bitch." Pam smiled cheerfully. I couldn't help smiling back. It's always nice to have a friend willing to go homicidal for you.

"This is a new low, Pam," hissed Eric, rising from behind the desk. "And utterly ridiculous. Sookie, ignore her."

"I'm not making it up." For the first time, I saw Pam flash fang at Eric. I stepped back slowly. What would happen if those two went at it? I didn't want to see.

"Look, there's only one way to solve this. Pam, show me the guy." I grabbed her arm.

"Oh, yes, Pam, show us this _man_," drawled Eric, following us out of the office and into the bar.

We emerged behind the bar, near the dance floor, and Pam pointed outward. In the semi-dark of Fangtasia, it might be hard to see a person, but in this case, she was pointing at the well-lit bar area, where it was crucial for the bartenders to be able to see faces well. Her ruby-red fingernail directed me at a man at the end of the bar--and her description wasn't far off. By the glow of the bar lamps, he _did_ look like Bill, but minus the years of hard living, the sorrow of his turning, and, oh, yes, the vampire look altogether. I peered harder--yes, he was actually human, as opposed to my Bill. And from the looks of things, I thought, squinting harder--

"He's actually hotter than Bill, don't you think?" Pam was saying at my ear. I gawked.

"That man wanted to speak with Sookie, you say?" Behind us, Eric's voice was about as warm and welcoming as the iceberg that took out the Titanic.

"Oh, yes. He quite admired her. Wanted to get her a drink, he said. Isn't he nice, Sookie? You should go have a word with him." She actually put her hand on my elbow and gave me a little shove forward. "He's human and he's here, so it's perfectly safe. Go on, check him out! You never know, he could be The One," she added with a coquettish wink.

I stumbled slightly at her "gentle" push--Pam clearly wasn't used to dealing with human bodies on a regular basis.

At that, whatever spell holding the Viking behind us in place broke. His hand caught me and moved me back. "That won't be necessary, woman. _I_ will be having a word with the vermin."


	7. Chapter 7

I stumbled slightly at her "gentle" push--Pam clearly wasn't used to dealing with human bodies on a regular basis.

At that, whatever spell holding the Viking behind us in place broke. His hand caught me and moved me back. "That won't be necessary, woman. _I_ will be having a word with the vermin."

"Excuse me?" My hand clawed his forearm as he sailed past me; he stopped sharply, frowning at me. "Who gave you the right to speak for me?"

I'm always surprised there are so many American vamps nowadays--goodness knows they don't take well to the idea of equality. Eric, being a Sheriff, or Too Big for His Britches (as I'd told him once, to his amusement), was even worse than others on this point. "I am dealing with this. Stay here, Sookie. Pam, keep her back."

His dismissive tone just frosted my cookies even more. "No, you don't, buddy!" I shrugged off Pam's hands, which were surprisingly light. Either I'd become a vampire when I wasn't looking, or she wasn't trying too hard to detain me. I brushed away the implications of that to deal with the pain in my rear before me. "I speak for myself, I'll have you know."

"You're being absurd," he hissed, brushing away my finger, poking him in the chest. "Would you just be silent, woman, and let me help you for once."

"You don't handle me, buddy."

"_Buddy?" _Eric had hit the sputtering level of rage.

"He wanted to speak with me. And if that guy wants to speak with me--well, I'll go speak with him!" And then, flouncing as much as one can flounce in a pair of jeans and gym shoes, I marched over to the bar and hopped on a red stool right next to the Bill lookalike.

I managed to take a breath at this point, a degree of sanity--or self-preservation--creeping into me. Point: I'd just ticked off Eric, and badly, by the looks of things. Peering out of the corner of my eye, I could see him spin furiously away from Pam, walking over and throwing himself down violently in his favorite chair. Great, just great.

I moved my eyes forward slightly. Point two: I'd just, for no reason whatsoever, put myself next to a stranger at a bar, who may or may not be interested in me. Lately, just being interested in me was a sign of trouble--all of the guys I'd dated lately, or had even considered dating, had been messes. I sighed and pushed away the pity-party, glancing up as the bartender slipped a drink in front of me. Weird--not that I got a drink (it had become embarrassingly obvious to me that the Fangtasia staff were under some kind of pressure to make sure I got whatever I wanted), but that it was a Shirley Temple. Why--oh, yeah. I looked over at the furious vampire across the way, arms folded across his chest. I guess Someone wanted to say something about my behavior.

Two can play that game. I was half-tempted to have the bartender take him a Go Fuck Yourself, but I figured Eric's cocktail knowledge would be limited, what with the blood diet and all.

"Hi," a male voice interrupted my thoughts to my left. This gave me the chance to look The Guy (as he was now known in my thoughts) directly in the face--after all, it's not polite to stare at folk. "So are we the only humans at the bar right now?"

I glanced up and down rapidly. "Pretty much." And pretty much all of the other ears, and eyes, were upon us, I gathered, watching heads whip over to Eric (still scowling across the room) then to me. I glanced back over at him and saw his black gaze. Well, screw him, Mr. High and Mighty. "I'm sorry, that's not a very good introduction, is it? My name's Sookie."

He took my hand and shook it properly. "I'm Mike." Up-close, his resemblance to Bill was considerably weakened, I thought, and was relieved. It was a little creepy to see a fresh version of my old undead beloved, after all. But he did look very nice, just as Pam promised; I guess he could've done some modeling work around here. He smiled perkily at me, another difference from Bill, whose smiles tended to be rare and sly. "I've been looking forward to meeting you, Sookie. I heard so much about you from one of the proprietors here." He had to shout a bit, because suddenly the music in the bar was much louder than it normally was.

That Pam. "Oh, really?"

"Yes." He leaned forward eagerly. "See, I'm in the area for my cousin's wedding and I'm going to be making the drive to Bon Temps. I hear you're from there? I'm something of a genealogist, y'know, a person interested in--"

"Family trees, yes." Who in the South _isn't_ a genealogist? Gran used to actually play games to see how many links you could find between the different families in town.

"Right, and, well, turns out one of my relations might've been buried in Bon Temps, and I was just asking this lady for advice about how to get there, and…"

I pasted a smile on my face as I nodded and half-listened. Well, damn it all to hell. Here I'd mucked up an, er, "interesting" night, thanks to my snit, and I was rewarded with someone whose idea of bar chat might as well be Bill's database. I started to glare and then remembered I was being watched--I peeked over again and Eric, his face a slab of ice, reclined his head slightly in my direction. So much for my subtlety.

For some reason, that just fired me up again. Hey, I might know I was wrong, but he didn't. And just because ol' Mike turned out to be a conversational dud didn't mean Eric had the right to be the boss of me, still.

"So do you know which graveyard it is?" I smiled what I thought of as my "guaranteed tip smile" and quite deliberately touched his arm. Normally, if I touch people, I can hear their thoughts, but I tried real hard to block his out. (Not just out of courtesy--even his private thoughts weren't that interesting, believe me.) I also tried to block out the sound of a bottle being slammed into a table, somewhere across the bar.

Model Mike beamed. "Why, it's the Catherine Cemetery," and with that he was off and babbling again. I didn't care; I cared about the fact I was sitting closer to him, he was leaning into me, and the picture we were painting was sure to teach Someone how to mind his manners. I wiggled slightly to get my arms beneath my chest, to push the girls out a little. That ought to show Him.

It also showed Mike, unfortunately; his eyes fell into my bosom like I had magnets in my shirt. On another night, I might've made a comment about not having eyes on my nipples, but tonight I pretended not to notice the way he was trying to peek down the gaping neck of Eric's shirt. "Sorry for being so restless," I said, as I wiggled again. "It's a bit chilly here, don't you think?"

"Yes," he said, in a dazed voice, his eyes still down there. Really, had the man never seen boobs before? His hand reached out to push up the sleeve on my upper arm, revealing the goose flesh there. I looked askance but didn't say anything. "Look, you really are cold--fuck!"

"As you like, but not in my bar." A certain blond Viking stood behind us, Mike's hand twisted back painfully in his own giant grasp. He leaned down into Mike's suddenly white face; I saw fangs. "You were leaving, weren't you?"

Mike wasn't the smartest customer. "Um--no?"

Eric's smile was positively Satanic. "You'd rather die, then?" I heard a crunch and gasped. There went Mike's drink.

"What the hell?"

"Exactly." With that, Eric stood erect, took poor Mike by the collar, and shoved him none-too-gently in the direction of the waiting bouncer. "Get out of my bar, vermin."


	8. Chapter 8

Eric's smile was positively Satanic. "You'd rather die, then?" I heard a crunch and gasped. There went Mike's drink.

"What the hell?"

"Exactly." With that, Eric stood erect, took poor Mike by the collar, and shoved him none-too-gently in the direction of the waiting bouncer. "Get out of my bar, vermin."

As the bouncer flew out with poor Mike, I whirled on the vampire behind me. The bar crowd had backed off around us, no doubt frightened by Eric's little display. Well, the glory days of He-man were long gone, as far as I was concerned. "I hope you're proud of yourself, scaring that poor man like that. He didn't do anything! Didn't your mamma teach you better? You cannot go around bullying people for no reason!"

"Oh, I had a reason," he hissed down at me, blue eyes frozen as Alaskan waters. "And your behavior leaves something to be desired, as well."

"I'm _not_ having this conversation, thank you very much." I grabbed my purse. "Have a nice night, and call me when you get some manners!" I hopped off my stool and started to plow away to the door, but the bar man stood there, blocking me. He just blinked and shook his hand slightly at me, as if in explanation. A movement caught my eye--oh, of course. Mr. Sheriff wouldn't want to cause a scene of course.

His voice rung out, sharp and decisive. "Oh, I am not through with you, Miss Stackhouse."

I spun back to face him--a hard feat, given that when he stands close, as he was then, I had to really crank back my head to look him in the eye. "Oh, you aren't, are you? Well, maybe I'm through with you!"

"Enough." He made a slight motion and the vampires around us melted back into the surrounding crowd. "This suits neither of us. Come." He strode past me, as if to go back to his office.

Well, that just got me madder. "You need a dog, not a girlfriend."

I knew at once that this was not the wisest thing to say; Eric rotated ever-so-slowly back to face me. "What did you just say?"

I folded my arms over my chest. Pam was smirking behind the bar, I saw. "I said I'm not going to be ordered anywhere."

"You are refusing to go with me."

"Yes, that's the way it is." I tried to make my voice sound more firm that it was--his voice was just a tiny bit too smooth, and that worried me. Correctly, as I found out, because in one long stride, he'd come up to me, and he tossed me over his shoulder as if he were used to running off with screaming women. Given his Viking past, he probably was.

"HOW DARE YOU!" His arm pinned me across my back, effectively holding the giant T-shirt in place; this left my hands free for a fruitless assault on the massive span of his back. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? ERIC NORTHMAN, YOU PUT ME DOWN RIGHT THIS INSTANT!" Even the sight of his most famous attribute beneath me did nothing for my mood just then. "ERIC!"

At least my embarrassment was short-lived, as Eric's natural speed got us to the back in a hurry. I wasn't even dizzy as he dropped me lightly in the chair beside his desk. I started to wish I were, though, when I saw him lean back against his door, observing me with a predatory gaze. "Do tell me, Sookie Stackhouse, why it is I always find myself either wanting to fight or fuck you."

I made a rude gesture with my hands. "What was _that_? I thought you were a Viking, not a damned caveman!"

He snorted. "You were causing a scene before my people."

"_I _was?" My voice hit new octaves in my outrage; if Eric were a mortal man, he'd probably have flinched from it. "You were the one who behaved like a complete asshole to Mike!"

"Mike." His fangs flashed white at me. "Dear Mike." He paused again, as if savoring the name. "_Dearest_ Mike was out of line. But not as out of line as you, dear one."

"_Me_?" Now I was the one brought to spitting out words. "Don't put this on me!"

"I think I will!" he hissed at me, pushing off the door and leaning down across his desk. He wasn't in my face, but he wasn't far from it, either. "You do not go from _me_--" --and here he jabbed a finger pointedly to his desk, making it quite clear he wasn't just talking of his physical body--"--to allowing some bar trash to hang upon you, out in the middle of _my bar!" _He jerked back and slammed back into the door again. "That is unworthy of you," he finished coldly.

I gawked at him, a cold rage making his blue eyes flash. "So, what, are you holding me prisoner until I say I've been a bad girl?"

He growled and moved from the door. "Does this look locked? Have I ever restrained you? Even when," and here his voice lowered, his eyes making me burn, "I really ought to do so?"

A strange frisson made its way down my spine as he eyed me. A wicked part of me, linked directly to my center, offered up visions that were not entirely repulsive. I sighed. What kind of hussy was I?

Eric remained quiet, smoldering at me from near the door. I tried not to look at him. The problem was, when he was silent, I could think, and that did nothing for my anger. Sure, he'd been an ass. But I had, admittedly, done what I could just to provoke him. And from the six-foot-four tower of pissed-off vampire ahead of me, maybe I'd succeeded beyond my impulsive wish.

"Look, I'm tired, and I don't need this drama." My words came out slowly as I tugged out my ponytail holder, allowing my hair to hang down by my face. I didn't speak entirely the truth: I was confused, my body was still shimmering almost painfully with something I didn't want to identify, and a part of my brain, still stuck on self-preservation, was hitting panic alarms at being in a room alone with Eric Northman. "I think I'll just go home now and we can talk later. Pam!" I raised my voice. "Pam, I know you're out there!"

She appeared in the doorway, flicking a glance at her master. He did not acknowledge her, continuing to stare at me. I avoided his eyes. "Yes, Sookie?"

"I am heading home. Walk me to my car?" I scrambled to grab my purse again. Despite my foul mood in general, I knew lurking around a bar by myself wasn't the smartest of ideas.

For once, I succeeded in making Pam visibly startled. "Ah--of course." Her eyes turned, questioning, to Eric; he remained set on me. In fact, I didn't think he'd react at all, until I hustled past him to the door. I couldn't help looking up at him, at his cold face, wondering for the umpteenth time what vampires thought about. Then I abruptly found a hand of iron on my shoulder, and a cool pair of lips ghosting past my temple. "We will speak later, lover," his voice, more molten than the ice cream's chocolate, murmured in my ear.

I stumbled into the darkened hallway behind the neat clip of Pam's heels, still looking backward at the blond man leaning in the lit doorway, unblinking eyes watching me. How could he do this to me?

Pam's voice filtered back to me through the distant thump of the bar music, puncturing my thoughts. "So, do tell me if your _friend_ was ungentlemanly. We do not hold with misbehavior in Fangtasia." I almost heard her smile. "Uninvited misbehavior, I should say."

Pam's concept of misbehavior was quite a bit broader than mine; I had a hard time imaging what she'd find unacceptable. "No, there's nothing wrong with that guy. He just wanted to talk about his family. Said you'd mentioned me, in fact," I added pointedly.

"Oh, now I do recall," she responded airily. "So many guests, you know, and so many of them ask about the staff."

"Of course." I could match her, sarcasm for sarcasm.

We wound into the hall behind the kitchen. The music was echoing faintly here, almost unintelligible, as if we were underwater. Pam did not take my bait. "Oh, yes. So many of them come to me, asking for numbers--mine, of course." She laughed, a delicate bell-like noise that had no business emerging out of a predator's throat. "Your brother did try. Oh, and for the waitresses, the bartender--whichever you haven't had killed yet, Sookie--and, naturally, Eric."

She unbolted and opened the back doorway. Refusing to play her game, I was quiet as I stepped out into the moonlight.

"Yes, Eric," she continued on. "So many of the guests--men and women both!--want to be with him. You'd be surprised." I coughed pointedly, hiking to my car; at my side, Pam did not let up. "Eric does not…desire…to know of the gentlemen, of course, but if a woman…meets his standards…."

"I didn't think he had any." I couldn't help myself, jabbing my key into my car viciously.

"But of course. He prefers the blondes. But we know that, don't we?" Pam was all unblinking innocence next to me. "But if any woman is willing, and worthy--" Why was my car lock stuck? I wiggled the key angrily, trying to ignore the current undead pain in my ass. "He has quite the fan club--I'm sure you've seen the _gifts_ they've given him--"

The door ripped open, but it wasn't vampire strength that made it fly open. "Okay, Pam, I get it! Erica's a sex god, I've got the picture already!"

She blinked, slowly, as if practicing the act. "A sex god? Why, I'm not sure I'd go _that_ far but he is--"

My hands went up. "Enough! I don't want to hear any more!" I was tempted to slap my hands over my ears, childish though it was. Instead, I dropped down heavily into the car. "Look, thanks for walking me here--"

I didn't get to finish because Pam was abruptly in my window, leaning down to speak to me. "If you do not wish to hear it, Sookie, then I suggest you do something about it. Because believe it or not, he is trying, and there are those of us who do not enjoy seeing him in distress."

I watched my fingers tighten across the steering wheel. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Sookie!" I looked at her unwillingly. She couldn't glamour me, but she was enough of a friend that I couldn't ignore her request. "This needs to be settled, and soon."

"What do you want me to do---go back in there, rip open his pants, and screw his brains out?" Gran would've been so furious with me for the crudeness, but I was at my wit's end.

I saw Pam's teeth glint thanks to the security light above us. "That would be a very good start."


	9. Chapter 9

I saw Pam's teeth glint thanks to the security light above us. "That would be a very good start."

Pam melted back into the darkness as I started up my car--my "crappy car," in Eric's words--and began the drive back home. The haul back from Shreveport wasn't actually that bad, since few were on the roads this late in the evening. I had been on the road for 20 minutes and I'd probably covered an extra 10 minutes' worth of time, thanks to lights turning green as I approached and the lack of other vehicles on the road. It was really almost_ too_ quiet. It reminded me a bit of another late night drive home, where I'd come across an amnesiac Eric running barefoot and shirtless on the road to my house. Although that was the deep of winter, with plenty of snow on the ground, and tonight was an unseasonably warm fall evening, the kind where you happily mill about on your porch and watch the quarter-moon in the sky. In fact, it seemed a shame to spend it cooped up in the car; I rolled down the window and let the autumn breeze in as I drove on.

I let my mind roam again. We never had figured out why he'd ended up just there, though I could see plenty of reasons for that--after all, my house is barely a three minute walk from Bill's, and Bill is one of Eric's underlings. And Bill of course would have contact with their vamp overlord, the Queen of Louisiana, who could've helped Eric out--but that just didn't feel right. Pam had hinted she'd heard something from the witch who put the amnesia spell on Eric, but she'd never told me any more than that, and Eric himself had never said anything about finding out why he was there.

I let myself work on that old puzzle, rather than deal with the night behind me. I couldn't even rely on the radio for complete entertainment, since I was passing through stations and what was on the air wasn't very good, anyway--not my kind of dance music. I guess I wasn't in a Celine Dion mood tonight.

_Thump, thump_, _thump_. I wasn't in the mood for this, either, driving the car to the curb and swearing extensively. (Sorry, God, but it had to be done.) The damage was pretty obvious--a flat, and I'd blown out the sidewall, so the tire itself had to be changed. Not a problem; I'm a Ms. Fix-It kind of girl. I thumped open my trunk and lifted up the carpet for the little hidey-hole beneath. My hand hit metal and my heart fell. Now, a problem.

"Shit!" I groped frantically around in the car, as if a tire could somehow shrink or fold up on itself to avoid discovery. "Oh, no, oh, no, oh, _shit_." Resting my fists on my hips, I glared sullenly into the empty trunk. Fact: My tire was blown out. Fact: My spare was gone, probably "borrowed" by Jason for his girlfriend's car. And the last, most pertinent fact, I thought, snapping the trunk closed much more quietly than I'd opened it--I was alone on a country road, in a scenario perfect for ski-masked serial killers.

"Great, just great." After all of the hell I'd been through, to end up road meat would be a new low. The more preferable option would be to get some damn help with the car. But who to call? I sat in my now-locked car, staring at the cell phone in my hands. I didn't have triple-A or any of those special insurance policies; that was extra money I didn't have. I was twenty minutes from the heart of Shreveport, and further still from Bon Temps. The answer--much as it stuck in my craw, and did it mightily--was obvious: I was going to have to call Fangtasia.

"Fangtasia, where life definitely does not suck," came the bored female voice in my ear.

"Er, Pam?"

"Sookie!" The voice took a decidedly more energetic tone. "Have you missed us already?"

"In a way." I shot a look around. The oh-so-pleasant drive on a nice empty street was now more than a little scary, I'll admit. "I've got a bit of a problem on my hands."

"How delightful. You do know how to set things on fire around here." In another world, I'd think it was odd that Pam seemed thrilled to hear my woes. In another world, I'd not have known Pam. "What do you need?"

"My car's not drivable and I'm stuck out on Route 78. I'm not sure what I need. A car? A tire? A bodyguard?" Ahead of my car, a possum skittered across the road. I shivered slightly. The fall air was not quite as enjoyable as I'd thought.

"I see." She appeared to be walking out of the main bar, as the volume of the music behind her declined. I heard her pause. "Oh, how interesting. Mmmm, really."

"Pam, I'm sitting here waiting for Freddie Krueger. What's so interesting?"

"Route 78, do you say?"

"Yes! Now, tell me what you're thinking, please?" I wasn't my most mannered self, but then again, I was getting more and more rattled. It's like being on an elevator that stops a minute too long--you don't realize how easily you become spooked until you're in the situation.

"I think you'd best look behind you, hon. Seen a Corvette lately?"

"Oh, _no_." I closed my eyes, but just briefly. Freddie could still be out there, after all.

"Yes, he's missing. Loose, you might say. I can't imagine _where_ he might be headed…"

"Pam, did you send him after me?"

"I did no such thing," she retorted firmly; I actually believed her. "Why either of you drag me into this, I don't know."

She was continuing on in that line of thought but I didn't hear her--instead, I was watching a red Corvette swoop up the hill behind me and whip in front of my car, its BLDSKR plate visible. There was no doubt at all in me. "He's here, Pam, gotta go. Thanks again," I said as I opened my car door automatically, rising up to greet my knight in red steel armor. I'd be lying to say I wasn't more than a lot relieved to see him; sure, I could have had Pam, and I'd have known I'd be safe with her, but there's something about being next to a thousand year old warrior who is perfectly happy to throw heads around (literally). It does give a girl a certain sense of security.

He virtually flew out of the Corvette, landing at my side. "I knew this car was fit for the junkyard, but I did not think it would meet its maker tonight. What did you do to it?"


	10. Chapter 10

He virtually flew out of the Corvette, landing at my side. "I knew this car was fit for the junkyard, but I did not think it would meet its maker tonight. What did you do to it?"

I grunted. "I'd like to know what some others did to it--I blew a tire and I don't have my spare." Shielding my eyes from the headlights left blazing on the Corvette, I led him to the side. "I was just calling Fangtasia, but Pam said you'd left. Were you following me?"

"Mmm." Eric seemed not to hear my question. Instead, he peered at my sorry tire, as if there were any question in the world of its problem. He even tapped it with his boot's tip in the universal male manner of testing a tire. "You've done quite a number on this, Sookie."

Hello, Mr. Obvious. I wanted to be frustrated and snap at him, but he honestly was trying to help. "Yeah, so I gathered. I don't have my spare, or I'd swap it out. I don't suppose I could borrow yours?"

He put his hands on his knees and bent over to look at the tire more closely. I bit my tongue when I realized his world-class rear was facing me, and made myself stare up at the moon like a good Christian woman should. And not _that _moon.

"I don't think so." He looked around his shoulder at me, then straightened. "I'd give you my spare, but it wouldn't fit. I'm afraid we're going to have to do something else. Do you have everything you need out of the car?"

"I'm not abandoning my car!" It's not like cars fall out of the sky. Well, they might in my world, but with my luck, they'd land right on me.

He shook his head. "Did I say you were? Trust me. Get whatever you need out of the car."

Well, there wasn't much to be done but follow his advice at this point, so I dug about in the car for the few personal items I kept in there. Goodness knows, with Jason prone to "borrow" the car for his latest fling, I didn't want to keep anything too important in there. "Okay, I'm done."

"Keys." Eric, who had been hovering behind me and fiddling with his cell phone, took them and plopped down by the tire. He slid half-way under the car and out before I could blink an eye. "Pam will oversee the retrieval of your car. I have hidden the keys for her." He grinned at me from beside the tire, quite pleased with himself.

"And made a mess of yourself." Fall foliage, and likely gravel as well, as all over Eric's shirt. This was an unfortunate statement on my part, as Eric's reaction was quite typical. He simply pulled the shirt over his head and shook out his hair; his eyes settled on me again and his mouth turned now into a lazy smirk.

"Enjoying the view? Want this one for the calendar?" His hands drifted down and made as if to unbutton the top of his jeans, but I spun away.

"Oh, come on, Mr. Ego. What now?"

The danger of knowing vampires is that they can move really, really fast. Which means certain Scandinavian Lotharios could move on me in a heartbeat. Before I could object, Eric was at my side, turning me towards him and propelling me backwards. In another second, I was gently deposited on the hood of the Corvette. It was warm, but since a cool vampire was right over me, I barely noticed. Indeed, I was too busy noticing how my legs lifted automatically to clamp down on Eric's waist as he leaned into me.

"You have missed me already, lover." He smiled. "And here I thought I'd meet with the same lovely shrew I just saw at the bar."

"Quit while you're ahead. I'm still mad at you." Yes, my hands were in his hair. So? It was…expedient. "Why were you following me?"

He was nuzzling by my jaw; sparks flew up where his beard brushed my skin, like one thousand miniature kisses. "Perhaps I wanted to…make up. Or…" He turned his head into my ear. "Perhaps I am told I am a sex god? Was I really that good, Sookie?"

"You were listening!"

"Not intentionally. You were…rather loud…at that point." He lifted his head to look down at my mortified face. "I love it when you're loud. It brings back many wonderful memories."

"Stop it!" I swatted his magnificent behind.

He squirmed happily. "Oh, do that again. You're into that?"

I couldn't help but laugh as I pushed against his broad shoulders. He didn't budge. "No, thank you--I'm just reminding you of your manners."

"Remind me again, then," he purred next to my ear; my hands rubbed the slopes of his shoulder blades. "I wanted to talk to you, but this is just as well."

"Don't you think--oh!--we should--um--get off the car?" It was hard talking while a Viking's hands were all over you. Eric, for the record, does not just cop a feel--there's nothing PG 13 in the way he approaches a woman. For which this woman, I admit, is terribly grateful.

He moved abruptly to slide a leg between mine; his knee wasn't just holding my boneless body on the car. He didn't need to breathe, but his chest was pumping almost as much as mine was. "Ground or backseat? The car's a bit _small_ for a man like me." His mouth turned and caught mine; I arched up against him and moaned helplessly. Oh, I remembered, all right. That kind of size doesn't fit in a backseat.

Distantly, I heard a rumble. A car? Somehow--from Eric's enthusiasm--I didn't think he was beyond a little exhibitionism; okay, a _lot _of exhibitionism. And maybe any lucky woman on the road wouldn't mind getting an eyeful of Viking, but I wasn't quite on the same level. "Eric!" He rumbled with pleasure. "No, Eric, I mean, don't you think--Pam's coming--does she really need to see--" I heard him mutter something which might have been, "Wouldn't be the first time," but I'm not sure.

I pushed regretfully against his chest again. "Really, please?"

"I'll take that as a rain check," he sighed and lifted off of me. "But you'd better be good next time. I'll be." He winked outrageously. _Someone_ was in a good mood. And from the looks of things, happy. Very, very happy.

I jerked my eyes upward, past his taunting lips and up to those dancing blues. "You're so much trouble." Okay, looking at those eyes as they said that was a problem, too. I looked over at the dark woods, shivering slightly, remembering another night, with a maenad wandering about.

"Um, I appreciate you coming out here, but I think we should move on--how long before Pam comes for the car?"

"Soon, but we don't need to wait for her." He was at the side of the Corvette, opening the door--his own, of course. Eric's not without his touches of chivalry, but he's used to being the Big Kahuna, after all. More slowly, I walked to my side of the car. "She'll come fetch your car and I'll drive you home." He shot me a look to stress this was not subject for discussion. At least it wouldn't be that much of a hog of his time--Eric drove like a bat out of hell (a comparison he appreciated greatly), and he could easily halve my road time. Of course, my body could be easily halved around a tree, and his couldn't. "It'll be at your home in the morning." His eyebrow slid upward teasingly, promisingly. "I could be, too."


	11. Chapter 11

He was at the side of the Corvette, opening the door--his own, of course. Eric's not without his touches of chivalry, but he's used to being the Big Kahuna, after all. More slowly, I walked to my side of the car. "She'll come fetch your car and I'll drive you home." He shot me a look to stress this was not subject for discussion. At least it wouldn't be that much of a hog of his time--Eric drove like a bat out of hell (a comparison he appreciated greatly), and he could easily halve my road time. Of course, my body could be easily halved around a tree, and his couldn't. "It'll be at your home in the morning." His eyebrow slid upward teasingly, promisingly. "I could be, too."

I kept my eyes closed for most of the drive home--not because I was tired, not because Eric drove like a maniac (and he did), not because he was still shirtless, but because he kept flashing smiles that were entirely too inviting in my direction. It was just too distracting, wondering what was going on beneath that golden mane. We chatted about a bunch of safe topics--TV shows we'd watched, Merlotte's (he asked if Sam had fleas), Fangtasia (I asked if the fangbangers were cleared for diseases)--before we fell into a comfortable silence.

"Tired?" I heard him murmur softly. "Or asleep?"

"Nope." I caught the hand sliding up my thigh. "And watch the road, please."

He ignored the rebuke, naturally, managing a caress before I pushed his hand away. "We'll be at your home shortly. Save your energy."

It was quiet when Eric pulled into Hummingbird Lane, nothing but the music from his iPod playing. (If he had a playlist dedicated to my seduction, he wasn't using it; we were listening to some up-tempo rock. And at least it wasn't Bill's endless Kenny G CD.) I didn't realize I was listening that hard to the music until Eric cut the engine, and the world was abruptly just us, staring at each other across the dark red cabin.

"Well, um, thank you for getting me--"

"It was my pleasure." He smiled at me softly, and it was like someone took a jackhammer to my heart. I leaned in and brushed a kiss on his cheek--one had to remember one's manners, after all--while he kept watching me with that amused expression on his face. Damned vampire.

"Thanks--I'll be seeing you." I galloped up the steps to the front door, key in hand. I know I was being brusque, but it was that or lose my Corvette virginity, which had already been severely tried tonight.

"Sookie." His voice wasn't loud but it had a certain steel behind it; you could really tell this man was a leader. I spun back around and saw a certain Viking had emerged from the car, standing there, still shirtless. I squished a rebellious part of me--okay, everything located under the belt--which danced happily at the sight.

"Yes?"

"You didn't give me a chance to say goodbye." And with that he began to move towards the steps, with torturous slowness, almost as if in slow-motion. Or maybe that was the perception of hormones, because as he poured himself up each step, the muscles rippled under that golden skin like the flow of the ocean, like the flow of all things rhythmic; my abdominal muscles clutched at the sight. I saw the moonlight glint like water off the darker hairs of his forearms, the little bit of hair on his chest, the promised land above his low-slung jeans

Well, there went the panties.

I fought the urge to run; his eyes remained on me as he stepped up slowly, gracefully, with all of the gentleness of a lion on the hunt.

He reached around me to put a hand on the doorknob; the other, he braced by my head. "Did you intend to send me away so quickly, lover?" My lower belly did happy things at his promising tone. "It's a long drive back…."

I muttered his name in automatic protest, managing to turn my lips away before he kissed me. He seemed not to be concerned about the implied rejection, placing little kisses along my jaw line. "Mmmmm, this is fun."

"Eric, I really have to go." I squirmed away. "I don't think this is a good idea." He lifted his eyebrow and he didn't even need to speak his objection to that. "Okay, right, it'd be good,"--and here his smile widened--"_really_ good, yes, ahh, stop that!" He snickered by my ear. "But I don't think we should just hop into the sack."

"But I do. You have been my woman. You should be my woman." He seemed to breathe right into my ear. "You _are _my woman." I moaned--pitifully, I'm sure.

I was a good modern woman and that kind of possessive bullshit really shouldn't do it for me. Emphasis on "shouldn't." I clutched into his shoulder and pushed back forcefully, leaving my body crying out. Eric allowed himself to be pushed back, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "Eric--no, please--I want to wait."

"As you wish, my hard-hearted lover." He didn't seem offended, though--probably because he was aware he'd made me a quivering pile of hormonal goo. Nothing cheered Eric like a tribute to his ego, and my knock-kneed state was certainly that. He stepped forward and brushed his lips to my forehead. "You will call me."

It wasn't a question, but then, that's Eric for you. He turned away and strolled down the steps as if he had all the time in the world. (And given the whole undead thing, I guess he did.) Maybe he was just chipper from having left yet another panting woman in his wake, or maybe he wanted to show off a bit, I don't know, but he stretched as he walked, letting the moonlight dance again on his muscles. Now I was treated to the rear view, and what a treat it was. I'm sure my drool was making splashes on the porch when he folded his hands behind his head as he sauntered to the car. That made all kinds of interesting things happen across his back, and that's not to mention what those jeans did for my favorite part of him. It got worse when he "dropped" the keys of the Corvette and had to retrieve them.

Damn him. Oh, damn him.

"Eric."

"Yes?" He looked innocently over his shoulder at me, his major asset still aimed my way.

"Damn it, get your ass here."

He stretched his body out to its full height, blinking with all of the innocence of a fallen angel. "Oh? I thought you wanted my _ass_ on its way home?"

"Damn it, Eric! Do I have to spell it out!"

"You can spell," he purred, advancing on the house again. "But I prefer a scream." Okay, maybe this was a bad idea. I caught the look in his eye. Okay, maybe this was a _really_ bad idea.

I was a little too flustered to say anything--I'm not used to propositioning men, since I've only been with three, and they were all take-charge kinds of guys--and so I just held my hand out to the vampire coming my way. "Come in?"

"Oh, I do intend to. Multiple times." His teeth were a dazzling white. At my mortified face, he laughed triumphantly and picked me up beneath my butt. "I knew you'd come to your senses, lover."

"Well, maybe I'm just crazy," I grumbled, clutching him around the neck, allowing my legs to hug his waist. "You tend to do that to me." The last thing I heard before he closed the door behind us was his delighted laughter rumbling through his chest.


	12. Chapter 12

"Well, maybe I'm just crazy," I grumbled, clutching him around the neck. "You tend to do that to me." The last thing I heard before he closed the door behind us was his delighted laughter rumbling through his chest.

Eric shoved the door open so enthusiastically that it nearly bounced right back into us again; only his quick motion with his foot stopped the door from smacking me on my Viking-supported backside. It didn't phase him at all; he was practically glowing in the dimness of my living room, and it wasn't because of any light. His voice, now husky, was setting little shivers, like raindrops, rippling down my spin. "Tell me where to take you." Somehow I knew he didn't mean take as in "to carry." "Where shall I make you surrender to me, Sookie Stackhouse?"

I groaned and rallied. Lord knows he had enough reasons to be pleased with himself--he didn't need to gloat. "Shut up. For all you know, I'm asking you in for some tea."

I couldn't help but half-laugh, half-sigh as he attacked my throat and jaw with his lips. "I'd rather put your kitchen to other uses. That table--I remember it was a favorite…"

I remembered it, too, and winced; I had had bruises for a week. Of course, Eric had "tended" to those bruises on a nightly basis, so my frown melted away quickly. Of course, the fact Eric's mouth had commandeered my lips might have had something to do with that, too.

For a long minute, all we did was stand there. I clung to him as if we were drowning in an ocean and his lungs held my only oxygen. Calling Eric a good kisser is a bit like saying Beethoven was a good musician; Eric had a natural gift, plus one thousand years, to perfect his technique. First gentle, then demanding, then slow again--it was like a tour of victory, held all over my mouth. His tongue was dancing with mine, as his hands flexed on my hips, which were jerking of their own accord against him. Judging by the shifting of his own lower body, he was no more inclined to stand there for all of eternity than I was. I nipped his lip, signaling a break; he obliged, but there was no playfulness in his face now. His eyes were smoke and his voice was steel. "Tell me what you want of me, woman." The room, which had seemed so noisy over the sounds of our respective chests rising and falling, my heartbeat's bronco-like leaps, now was terribly silent.

"You, now" I managed to whisper, before his lips were on me again, making me yield to him.

Fortunately for both of us, he knew the way, moving surely but urgently through the house as I planted kisses on the supple skin at the base of his neck and shoulders. My teeth grazed him at one point, and he hissed. "Do that again and I'll fuck you against this wall right now."

He didn't follow up on that particular threat, though, managing to get us into my bedroom before we embarrassed ourselves, as we both scrambled for the bed. My long t-shirt was the first thing to go--pouncing on me, Eric ripped the shirt off with all of the destructive enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning. He didn't even bother to remove my bra. He pulled the cups down to allow immediate access to my nipples, which had been threatening to erupt through the cups for him, anyway. There was no doubt about it: I might be a butt girl, but Eric was definitely a boob man.

I wiggled a bit to shift the strained bra straps. "Thank you, that's lovely," I heard from somewhere in my cleavage, where Eric was happily nuzzling and licking as if I'd coated my body in sugar. His hips punctuated his comment, making it clear just how much he was liking this situation. He wasn't the only one. I could not help but moan when he pulled back just a bit and fixed his eyes on mine. He then proceeded to slowly and deliberately draw his tongue, wet and raspy, again my right nipple as if it were his own private ice cream cone, and he had every intention of finding out how many licks it would take to get to the center.

"Oh, Lord, Eric!" Okay, maybe I really did not want Jesus interrupting this scene, but I really was at my wit's end. I tried to reach for him, but the bra was getting in my way. "Get this thing off of me!"

"Gladly." And with that, my latest piece of lingerie perished. I would've wondered about Eric's skill with bra hooks but his mouth and hands had joined forces on my breasts, and I was utterly gone.

His clever fingers were making good use of my boneless state, flipping open the button of my jeans. I shifted again, lifting my hips to allow him access. Thank God yesterday had been laundry day, so I actually had decent panties on, and not the ratty last-clean-pair-in-the-drawer ones. Eric would probably have rathered no panties altogether, but he was going to have to live with it.

Live with it for just two seconds, apparently, because he hooked his fingers on the sides of my underwear, smiled wickedly at me just over my most personal area, and then literally tore the panties off, leaving my body open to the caress of the cold air and his blazing eyes.

"Mmmm…." He murmured, but instead of nuzzling me (as I hoped), he just drew the silky fabric under his nose, keeping the same lustful look on my face as before. I had clearly been around him too long, because all I could do was whimper in approval. "I'll be keeping these…to savor." I'm not sure what he did with the underwear at that point, frankly, because he bent his head to me.

When the stars behind my eyes receded, I looked up to a Viking's face, poised above mine. His eyebrow arched. "Like that, did you?" I felt his silky fingers on my inner thigh, stroking upwards and downwards in a way that spoke quite naturally to my body. I whimpered again and he showed me his fangs. "Go ahead, do it again. It is quite exciting."

So I could tell. I fumbled for his jeans and he didn't stop me. I was clumsy but successful in flicking open the button and drawing the jeans down over his spectacular rump, even managing to steal in an affectionate squeeze. He tried to assist me, twitching under my hands so that the jeans shimmied down further. That gave me a chance to actually look down at what I was dealing with.

"My goodness." Eric always knew how to keep a girl on her toes. I'd seen him in boxers, I'd seen him in a red bikini-style brief (still hidden in my drawer, I admit), I'd seen him commando (and memorized the view), but now I found him in--a thong? It appeared to be black, but I was barely paying attention to it; my attention was drawn to that which it was ineffectually trying to cover. "Oh, oh, my." Memory certainly did not do him justice.

"Oh, yes." I could hear the smirk in his voice. "Like it?" He leaned forward so that our hair mingled together, his voice dropping to that wonderfully intimate note again. "A gracious plenty, didn't you say?"

Well, there was no appropriate answer to that, so I pulled him back up to me for a kiss. He allowed me to do so; his hands guided mine down his body, urging me to take what I wanted. I hovered hesitantly over his underwear, more than a little bit intimidated at taking that one last step. It wasn't like we hadn't done this before--many, many times before--but now, with his memory back, it just seemed--well, like the first time. A time you can't get back.

"Go on, lover." His mouth was over my ear again, but it might as well have been over somewhere else, for the immediate response it started within me. "Take what you want."

I turned my face back to his, stalling; he was unexpectedly sweet about this, leading me into a slower kiss, as if he weren't dying to rip off his underwear and complete his conquest. From the way he held me, my heart thumping wildly against his naked chest, you'd think we had not just all night, but all time.

I ran my hand down across his lower belly again, fingering the fine hairs there, and sucked in a breath. I could feel Eric tense his arms around me, no doubt bracing his body not to react to my touch. And then--

"_I KISSED A GIRL, AND I LIKED IT…THE TASTE OF HER CHERRY CHAPSTICK…"_

"Whuuu--" I gasped out, as Eric tore his mouth from me with a simple but effective, "Fuck!" I'd have told him to ignore the obnoxious ring but something told me not to do so, as he swore and dove to the side of the bed, fishing about for his discarded jeans. I heard him saying a variety of words in another language, all in the same tone as the obscenity from before. Finally he grunted, retrieving his red cell phone. "A moment, lover. It's an emergency."

I gaped at him as he stretched lengthwise next to me, absently rubbing a hand down my naked thighs as he dialed the cell with the other. When the other party answered, he didn't bother with preliminaries. "Speak," he snarled into the phone. He paused. "I see." His face lost its vicious expression, becoming gravely serious instead. "I will." Still apparently not in the mood for niceties--or anything else, I noted with dismay, glancing downward--he flipped the phone shut shortly, before snapping his gaze back to me. His face told me everything; I knew what he was going to say before he did.

"You've got to go?" I didn't want to sound desperate and needy, not even though my body was crying out to cross home base, so to speak.

He looked at me reluctantly, then seemed to gather himself. He stood up, pulling the jeans on. "A fire at Fangtasia. The building's not heavily damaged, so far as Pam can tell, but there is property damage and a few injured in leaving the club." He tucked his phone back into his pocket and swooped back down on me, our eyes millimeters apart. "I'd not leave you for anything else, you know."

"I know, I know, you need to go. Pam is okay?" I tried to look elsewhere, but it is hard to look elsewhere when a man's face is practically glued to yours.

"She's fine. She knew better than to send her regards." He smiled reluctantly. "And now, I have a favor to ask of you."

"What? What can I do? Do you want me to get dressed and come along? I could handle the daytime stuff, if you need somebody to call your insurance--"

But Eric was shaking his head, making his blond locks fly. "I will have that already arranged. No, what I want is this." He leaned in by my ear. "I want you to finish for me."

"Finish?" I croaked.

His hand guided mine downwards. "Finish. I never leave a woman…in need." While this sunk in, he prompted my hand. "And when you do, be sure to be thinking of me, and what I _will_ do to you next time."

And with that line, I was suddenly left all alone in my bedroom, the gulping pants of my breath echoing back at me mockingly. "Shit!"


	13. Chapter 13

And with that line, I was suddenly left all alone in my bedroom, the gulping pants of my breath echoing back at me mockingly. "Shit!"

I was in a mood worthy of any vampire the next morning. I hadn't slept a wink, of course, and it wasn't for any of the reasons Eric had suggested. No, every part of me had gone on strike with the absence of a certain Northman, and all I could do (and did) was roll over and sob with frustration into the pillow.

It was not a good night.

So morning light found me in a foul mood, you could say. I was unloved, unrested, and very unhappy as I stomped about my house, getting my morning coffee together.

I sat down at the kitchen table and almost stared through the paper before me. In addition to my ongoing…issues…with Eric, I was worried about the folks at Fangtasia. Half of the staff gave me the creeps, sure, but that bar was Eric's baby. I hadn't had word from Eric since he left, so I didn't know what was going on in Shreveport. Not that I'd really expected him to contact me--he wouldn't have had a lot of time to get back to Fangtasia, settle what needed to be settled, and then get to bed for the day. Besides, he'd have expected me to be sleeping, I supposed.

I eyed the phone on the wall speculatively. I wished I'd had the guts to just call Pam. I didn't want to disturb Eric, of course, but Pam might've taken a minute to give me the low-down. Of course, then she'd want a tit for tat, so to speak, and that brought back newer memories.

"Oh, hell." I put my forehead against the table. I was an idiot. Instead of clarifying matters with Eric (meaning, running the hell away from him), I'd gone and gotten naked for him. Almost naked _with_ him, my brain helpfully reminded me, complete with mental photographs. Very, very detailed photographs.

I shoved those thoughts aside--after all, I still didn't know what had happened at Fangtasia, and having to retreat to a cold shower (again) wasn't going to help me get to the bottom of that particular mystery. I grabbed for the paper again. The _Bon Temps Herald_ was your usual anonymous paper, with most of the content supplied by the big wire services and very little to do with the local news. (They had sure missed some big stories in the last year or two, I thought wryly.) But still, sometimes the paper managed to be useful for more than the crossword and Cryptoquip.

As expected, the paper didn't do much to satisfy my curiosity. There was a tiny story about a fire at a vamp bar, identified as "Fangtasia, owned by a Mr. Eric Northman, 1000+, of Shreveport…" but little actual story. The fire was in the supply room, nobody knew how it had started, and damage wasn't yet known. Apparently, nobody had died, which was a good thing. (At least to me. Maybe the vamps would've disagreed.) The tiny picture showed Pam looking irritably at the reporter, as the caption noted, "CONCERNED CITIZENS WORRY ABOUT VAMP VIOLENCE." I guess they hadn't noticed that particular concerned citizen had fangs, too.

I studied the tiny, grainy photo of Pam, and found myself looking for Eric in the background. No such luck. I knew he was fine--the Supes would've found a way to tell me, somehow--but I was still worried.

"Oh, screw it." I grabbed my cell and dialed. Yes, I was a sad sap, but at least it would make Eric call me back when he first got up.

"This is Eric," I heard his voice purr in my ear. "Northman," he added after a pause, as if it had just occurred to him there might be another Eric in the world. I snorted. "If you are calling for business, press one. But if you are calling…" and here his voice dropped down to a throaty growl, the kind you wanted to hear across a pillow, "for _pleasure_, press two. I will return your call shortly." I was half-tempted to hit two just to see what obnoxious message he'd left, but instead I just hung up. Let him see I'd called and wonder why.

I spent the rest of the morning in a sulk. I even went outside to sun-bathe. It was one of the last really hot days of the fall, and I couldn't miss a chance to keep my tan up. Plus, if I admitted it to myself, it was a chance to bask in what I couldn't get around any deserting vampire lovers. But it was just too quiet around the house and too noisy in my head, so I found myself sitting there, cell phone in hand, again.

I could call Sam--goodness knows, he'd probably have heard of the fire at Fangtasia. The Supe community was faster with gossip than the Internet, and Sam would really want to know about any possible violence in the local bars, being a bar owner himself.

But no. I sat there and considered my phone's address book. If I called Sam, he'd probably try to ask about the whole Eric situation, and I didn't want to go there. Hell, I didn't want to think about it myself, let alone clarify it for anybody else. And of course, I didn't need to give the local grapevine any more reason to dish about my "preferences." Thanks to my unfortunate "gift," I knew all too well that half of Bon Temps imagined me the possessor of some twisted sex dungeon, where only equally depraved beings, like vampires, could keep up with my insatiable lusts.

Which brought me back to the subject of my worry: Mr. Insatiable himself. There was _one_ way to possibly get in touch with him…I frowned at the phone. Oh, hell. Why not?

Eric was a very old vampire and as such, he could sometimes break out of the death-sleep that claimed vampires during the day. He was very weak and drowsy, as I'd found in the horror at Rhodes, when I'd had to wake him up. But he could force himself to move around a bit, every so often. Normally, Eric had told me, he'd just wait out any times he "woke up" like that, and fall into a deep sleep again. More recently, he'd found he could use little things to entertain himself for the minute or two he managed to wake up--a television left on, music playing, or, more frequently, his cell phone. He wasn't strong enough to chat anybody up on the phone during those times, but he could sometimes text a little message or two. I'd forbidden him to send me those messages once, because they just made my bill increase, and I couldn't afford that. Plus, they were inevitably outrageous and embarrassing, and I didn't want that smut on my phone.

Still, desperate times call for desperate measures. "You ok?" I typed in slowly.

He didn't answer right away and I didn't expect him to do so. I could only hope he'd get the message during a wakeful moment. Sure enough, about ten minutes later, my phone beeped.

"Fine. You?"

I bit my lip, but decided to be honest. "Worried. How was the bar?"

This time the message came back quickly; he was clearly much faster on his cell than I was. "Later. Now: did you scream my name?"

I glared at the cell in my hand. "NO."

The taunting little letters popped up swiftly. "I screamed yours."

I pounded on the tiny keyboard. "ERIC!"

Again with the annoying beep. "Good girl."

I could've throttled him. "Go to sleep."

"What are you wearing?"

Oh, gross. I glared again at the phone in my hand, before an evil thought occurred to me. If he could wind me up and leave, and not even be very sorry about it….Well, two could play that game. "Bikini bottoms."

I guess I floored him, because I only got a question mark back. I grinned and typed back. "Sunbathing. Tan's gotta be even."

That resulted in the longest pause so far in the conversation. I smirked. Eric, for all of his taunts, couldn't do anything even if he were in a "situation"--he was too physically weak. He'd just have to suffer. Like me.

The phone beeped, making me jump. "Picture?"

"Pig," I said aloud. Then a brilliant idea occurred to me. I tucked the strings of my bikini into the cups, and tried to cover myself with my arm, so it would appear I were clothing-optional. I wasn't about to go further than that, of course--I did have a brother who could walk up the yard at any time, and I wasn't about to traumatize either of us. Besides, Gran would roll in her graves if I acted like some of those trashy stars with naughty photos. So I managed to cover part of my chest with my arm, and with the other hand I took the pic. Sure, I had that fish-eyed look all cell phone pictures yield, but it would do to drive one vampire mad. With great satisfaction, I hit the "send" button.

"Succubus" was the only response I got, before another minute passed. Then a beep. "Need lotion?"

"I'll just have to do it myself," I typed back. My cheeks hurt from giggling. "All by my lonesome."

"Tell me..." I could imagine the mischievous look in his eyes as he wrote that, expecting me to be embarrassed at his teasing. Well, no more Ms. Nice Gal.

"Miss me?"

If he was surprised by my turn of thought, he didn't react. "Oh, yes."

"Ache for me?"

"Of course. ??"

I ignored his implied question. "Down there, I mean?"

I guess I was making him impatient, because he laid the bullshit on thick. "You cause my loins endless torment, o goddess of sexuality. I crave nothing more than to fuck you to oblivion and back. I die without you joined to me."

"Then you know how I felt last night," I typed out triumphantly, before slapping the cell closed. Let him sleep on that one.


	14. Chapter 14

For the first hour or so after my message, I waited to hear the taunting beep of my voice--but no further messages came. Eric was either steaming mad, or just plain asleep. That's the danger of having a vamp for a boyfriend: When he rolls over and falls asleep, he really does need to fall asleep.

I'm not a girl who sits around and waits all day for a man, dead or not, so I went about my business. Got the house cleaned, laundry done--and then looked out the window to see a car service driving my car up into my driveway.

"Well, damn." I don't know what daytime lackeys Eric has (elves? In my world, you've gotta wonder), but they are efficient. Too efficient, I thought, signing off on the delivery sheet that verified I was the owner of a new set of tires on a car that had been freshly inspected. It's a bit hard to be mad at a man, dead or not, who knows a girl needs her tires.

And other things, my rebellious libido reminded me, and so I pushed my gratitude to the side, throwing myself into my errands with a zeal that hadn't been there a day or so ago.

The same energy kept me going at the start of my shift at Merlotte's. It was a lively bunch that night, as it always is in the fall--people get all excited about the local games, and they like to come and drink a beer when talking about that. It can make for a fun time (for the guests) and a demanding time (for the staff).

Tonight was like that--we were hopping until about 9:30 or so. That's when it started to slow down, and I found myself more and more standing behind the bar, waiting to grab a drink order. More and more, my eyes kept darting to the door. I could almost see it: The radio would be playing something like that Chris Isley song, and I'd be behind the bar. The door would fling open dramatically, and in would walk Eric, his hips slowly rolling like a man who had just sexually satisfied every woman in the state. He'd be wearing those jeans he got last spring, which he had insisted on modeling for me ("I am told these flatter my…second-best part. Would you agree?"). His arms would swing just enough to make you aware that his tight-t shirt hid absolutely none of his perfect upper body, each muscle's shift pulling the fabric just-so. I'd be back here behind the bar, managing not to drool on the bar while he deliberately stalked up to me, those naughty eyes dancing. "Why, Sookie Stackhouse." He had some magic in the way he spoke, a warmth in his voice that set happy little bumps rising all over my body. "Did you miss me?" And then he'd lean in and give me that smile that could separate me from my _Legends of the Fall _DVD, making me wish to pull his vamp self right over the bar and--well. You know.

I sighed and pulled myself back to the loud Merlotte's reality. I should be above this kind of moping about and fantasizing. I'd lived pure as driven snow for twenty-some years, and it hadn't killed me. A few quiet nights in probably wouldn't slay me, either.

"Though it sure feels like it," I muttered aloud, giving the bar a vicious polishing. I couldn't even look forward to a good fight with Eric, to clarify just how wrong my body was for fixating on him. Even if he wanted to crash Merlotte's and tease me, he couldn't; if there was anything suspicious about the Fangtasia fire, he'd want to be on-site as long as possible, to keep an eye on things. Which means no Viking invasions for me.

"Problem, Sookie?"

A couple of years ago, I'd probably have shrieked if I were startled. Being amongst Supes so often, though, kind of changes your measure of what's really scary. Instead of yelling, Sam popping up beside me just made me hop a little. "No, just thinking. What's up?"

"There's a call for you. You can take it in my office." He jerked his head to indicate I could slip back there while he stood in my place. With a grateful nod I slipped to the back and the phone.

I didn't even have to ask who it was; only one party ever called Merlotte's for me. "Is this Fangtasia?"

"It is." The voice on the other end sounded distinctly amused. "But I'd prefer it if you called me 'lover.' "

How could he make my toes curl when we hadn't even gotten past greetings? If Eric ever needed a second job, he really should go into being a phone sex operator. He probably already knew that, though--and if he didn't, his ego sure didn't need to hear that. I decided to cut to the chase. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't call about the car--I should've said thank-you, it was sweet of you to do that for me--"

"I'd rather be something other than _sweet_," he purred. "And I didn't do that for any damn thank-yous, although if you feel inspired to lavish sexual favors upon me, I might accept them."

"Like hell!"

"Well, apparently it was becoming rather chilly there last night…"

"Right, right," I added grumpily. "But why call me at work and not on the cell? You know as well as I do that barmaids can't sit all night chit-chatting on the phone."

"But then I wouldn't get to hear that delicious voice of yours," he objected. "And I wouldn't have the satisfaction of your shifter knowing we are having this conversation in his quarters."

I glared at the phone. "There's no conversation. Look, Eric, if this is just following up on this afternoon--"

"I'd rather follow up on last _night_." This time he wasn't even bothering to purr; he was growling, and oh, goodness. I must be mental, because that did things to my bones. He spoke slowly, lowly, but with deliberation. "I wanted to tell you, personally, that I greatly regretted our--interruption." The growl shifted into a hiss now. "And were it not for the fact some fucker tried to burn my bar, I'd be buried in you right now."

"Um, um…okay?" I shook my dazzled head. "And I'm sorry about the bar. What did happen?"

"That is also why I called," I heard Eric say into my ear as I toyed with the phone cord. "We believe it was an arsonist, not an accident. We do not yet know why, but we suspect, for obvious reasons, that someone does not enjoy our…clientele." How could anybody enjoy the fangbangers, I wanted to ask, but then realized to a vampire, it's like asking the difference between a cute and ugly cow. The milk's gonna be the same. Did that mean I was a cow? As I worked out that point, Eric's voice caught my attention again. "I wanted you to be aware, given that your employer is a shifter." For once, he managed to say the word without all of the disgust with which a person might say "piece of shit." Instead, it was more like the implicit sneer one would use in saying "hairball." "So stay alert."

"Aye-aye, captain," I muttered without meaning to, and he barked out a laugh.

"Good girl. You are very clever, you know. And of course, you are quite beautiful." When I protested, he continued on. "I quite enjoyed your photo. You should pose with me in the calendar for next year. Imagine how spectacular we would look…together."

"I don't think so!" I was too flabbergasted to point out I was wasting poor Sam's time up front.

"Or you could make it a personal photo. I would quite…enjoy…it."

"Oh, you'd enjoy a female cat if I left you alone with one," I shot back, before he roared with laughter and let me go, but not without a reminder to look about for Bubba and any female cats. I tried not to think too hard about that--either the poor cats, or Bubba.

With that on my mind, I headed back to the bar, only to be stopped by Sam, holding an armful of what looked to be individual roses. "Are those roses?" I blurted out, not my sharpest moment, I'll grant you. Then again, the day I got involved with Supes was probably the least sharp.

"They're for you." He thrust them awkwardly at me.

I hopped backward as if he were offering me poison. "Sam! I mean, that's sweet, but you know--"

"Oh, no, they're not from me!" He laughed outright, as did I, and the tension eased completely. "Somebody just dropped them off for you, and I thought you'd want them."

I accepted them and the attached card slowly. Sam was hovering, in the good Bon Temps fashion, pretending to sort out some papers left on the sidetable while I shuffled for the envelope. At least he hadn't given them to me out in front of the entire bar, I reminded myself, and let him have his moment to spy.

It didn't say anything on the card, of course, but the signature said it all: a big, swooping E. And with that, I eyed the flowers more carefully. Eric really wasn't the sort to send flowers on his own. The last time he had, he'd sent me that flower arrangement that looked for all the world like a lady's bits. I didn't think he'd turned into a roses-and-daisies type overnight, somehow.

"Why are they wrapped individual? Is that normal?" I asked Sam, shaking the flowers at him. The buds were covered in cellophane tubes--maybe for shipping, I suggested to Sam, who stepped over to help me analyze this.

"I don't know--they look pretty standard--wait, I think I see something." He grabbed a bulb with one hand and looked in. "There's something in each of them--let's see--" and with that he set about fishing into the bulb with the tip of his finger.

It wasn't a bomb that came out, dangling on the tip of his finger, but for the moment, I almost rather wished it was.

"Oh."

It was a red lace woman's thong.


	15. Chapter 15

It was a red lace woman's thong.

I've always loved being around Sam. It's not just attraction--although that's been there, too, in the past--but the way his face--shaggy-haired, kindly cobalt eyes, neighborly smile--just puts you at ease at once. Being with him is normally like wearing an old pair of jeans; when I first met him, I felt more at home with him than with the minister of my church, who's known me since I was four. He just fits.

This was one area where I really did _not _want him to fit, let alone think. "Oh, oh, my gracious," I blurted out, lunging for the offending fabric and flowers. Sam was hardly going to fight me for them--he'd only made a mild coughing noise and stood there, looking incredulously at the "prize" inside the flower bulb. "What a sick joke that was--he's into jokes, you know." I could feel myself babbling on, but what else was there to do? My boss--who had his own questionable emotions toward me--had just been handling underwear intended for me, and we both knew it!

He found his voice as I stuffed the panties in my purse and shoved the flowers on the side table beside them. "He sent you _underwear_? What kind of God-damned pervert is he?" I winced; I hoped I could avoid answering that one. "Why are you hanging out--Sook, don't tell me, are you actually _with_ that guy?"

I knew that tone. It was the same tone I'd heard many times before from Sam, whenever he didn't like a (dead) man being with me--as if I had a line of men down my driveway, and I just ended up with the riff-raff because I was magnetically attracted to Trouble. Which might be true, but still. A girl could feel tired about getting blamed. "I'm not having this conversation in the middle of my shift. Unless you're sending me home?"

Sam backed down, as I knew he would, but not without a caution to be careful. (I tried not think about my hospital bills the last few years as I nodded.) I then had to wait, steaming, for my next break, and my next chance to ream Dead Meat himself. A couple of hours later saw me in Sam's office again, dialing my cell. First, I tried Eric's number--no answer. No doubt he was sitting there watching my number go straight to voice mail. Well, that wouldn't stop me. I dialed again.

"This is Fangtasia, where you can take a bite out of fantasy!" The voice at my ear was so unexpectedly perky that I actually did a double-take at the number. "This is Mindy, can I help you?"

Well, well, well. A cheery fangbanger. She must've just started the job. "Um, Mindy, can I talk to Eric?"

"What's your business with the Master? He's awful busy!"

It was a bit like talking to Minnie Mouse. In this case, a Minnie Mouse who probably wore black leather, a gallon of eyeliner, and had a piercing through her nose. "I just need to talk to him, please."

"Sorry, ma'am, but he doesn't take mortal messages!"

Now this was becoming grating. I try to be friendly to wait staff, as my Gran always taught me to be. I know from my own life that it's no easy job, working with the public. But ol' Mindy here was pushing my last button.

"I'm not asking you to take him a message, Mindy. I'm asking you to _get _him." When she gasped out loud at the very idea, I broke down. "Listen, if you don't go tell him Sookie Stackhouse is on the phone--that's Sookie, okay?--you are going to have a lot of problems with him."

Apparently, I got through to Mindy, because she huffed, "Fine!" before leaving the phone. And as I waited, I realized she hadn't even bothered to put it properly on hold. Fragments of conversation drifted to my mortified ear:

"_Sarah, you seen the Master? Some girl--Cookie Stackhouse, I think?--something like that--is calling."_

"_Sookie? Oh, shit, we'd better find him fast. Or Pam."_

"_Why? What's the big deal?"_

"_Haven't you seen the picture on his desk?"_

"_Oh, hell, I wouldn't have bothered with these heels if I'd known he had a girlfriend!"_

"_Hon, he's all over her every time she comes around. If they're not screwing yet, they will be. Go find him, before he get pissed as all hell that we made her wait!"_

The next time I went to Fangtasia, I was definitely going to wear a hood. And maybe a wig, I vowed to myself, waiting as the click of heels signaled Mindy had left on her mission. Eavesdroppers never hear flattering things, Gran used to say to me. I guess this fell under that category.

I didn't have to stew long, at least, before a silvery female voice spoke into the phone. "I take it you've either destroyed your car or have been shot at today?"

"Hi to you, too, Pam, and you haven't missed any bloodshed, don't worry. I do hope all's well with you?" I was raring to give Eric a good talking-to, but I wasn't going to forget my manners.

"Wonderful. You do know I hate to be late to the party."

"Of course. Listen, I was actually calling for Eric--is he around?"

"He's on the floor, letting the minions adore him. There's a big group tonight--bachelorette party, I think." I resisted imagining this scene. "Shall I fetch him from them?"

"Oh, I think so. Hey, before you go--does Eric really have a photo of me on his desk?"

"Of course. It's been there for months now. I would have thought you'd have noticed, but then again, maybe you weren't looking--"

"Thanks, I get the idea," I muttered, cutting her off. No need for the visuals. "What is it? I don't remember taking any pictures at Fangtasia." Or for his calendar, I added to myself.

"It's one in which you're wearing some dress and the majority of your breasts are exposed." While there had been unfortunate incidents in Dallas where I'd run around the city with my boobs out, there hadn't been (thank God) any photographers around; this had to be the romance novel cover I'd shot with Claude as help in his contest. It was an embarrassing shoot, and painful, with my back about to break from bending backwards for maximum cleavage eruption. Of course Eric would want that one. "My master's always been very fond of that one. I'm sure I don't know why." While I slowly died inside, she added, "Eric had it framed just to tease you, but apparently he forgot to tease you…about that. Or you were too busy not looking at his desk." As I sputtered in response, she brushed me off. "Allow me to get him." This consisted of listening as Pam carried a phone through the bar, a few pounds of unrelenting techno, and then silence.

"Twice in one night? You are very demanding tonight, lover." His voice echoed a bit; I guessed he might have stepped into the employee hallway off the bar, where it was quieter. This was probably more for my sake than his, as vampire hearing didn't have to worry about deafening background music. "I like it."

I wanted to point out he'd called me the first time, but that was beside the point. "Eric Northman, I cannot believe you sent me _panties_," I hissed. I could just imagine someone walking by Sam's office and hearing me yelling about underwear. With my luck, it'd probably be the minister en route to the restroom.

"I can't either. I'd much rather you went without. What was I thinking?" Shame and Eric really don't go together well, I've found.

"If you keep talking like that, I _will_ hang up on you," I shot back furiously. "You can't do this at my work! Sam saw the--the thongs!"

"Oh, did he. How terrible." Eric's tone made it clear this was almost as terrible as winning the lottery, from his perspective. "Did you tell them they were from me?"

"Don't you even try to distract me, Eric Northman. I am _not_ happy about this, you hear? You cannot go around sending me--"

"Sookie, honey? Can you come up front? We're getting slammed," Arlene's voice floated through the wall to me, and I cursed.

"Tsk, tsk. Such a mouth on you," Eric's voice rumbled in my ear. For someone in the process of getting yelled at, he sure didn't sound repentant. "You're always talking dirty to me."

"That's because you provoke it," I grumbled back. "Listen, don't send embarrassing things to my work, okay?"

"I am not to send you gifts at your work."

"Yes."

"And you will then cease harping at me."

"Harping? I haven't BEGUN to tan your hide, mister."

"That sounds fun."

"Oh, stop. Yes, I'll stop complaining, if you promise not to embarrass me like this again."

"Then, done."

"Fine."

"Splendid." As I started to say my good-byes, he interrupted me. "Oh, Sookie? Enjoy the package sitting on your doorstep." The phone clicked in my ear as he hung up.


	16. Chapter 16

"Splendid." As I started to say my good-byes, he interrupted me. "Oh, Sookie? Enjoy the package sitting on your doorstep." The phone clicked in my ear as he hung up.

Eric doesn't lie. I normally like this a lot about him--there are no nasty surprises, like bitch vamp makers hanging around, just waiting to jerk his (or my) chain. I did much appreciate this when I saw yet a package on my doorstep as I pulled in that evening.

It wasn't even a big surprise--more lingerie, 95% of it in tones of red, and 100% of it barely able to cover anything. Which I guessed was the point, I thought, tossing to the side a see-through nightie. And all this for a woman who'd not done more in the last few months than, well, the events of the other night. Really, Eric thought my sex life was a lot more exciting than it was.

Or he intended to make it that way, my subconscious helpfully provided. I shuddered, but not with fear, and made myself look at the card included.

"To my éclair. The crème was delicious. Till I taste you again. ~E."

I really ought to never look at anything sent to me by that man again.

I considered calling him, just to tell him off for being disgusting, but I was tired. Plus, he was no doubt lurking within earshot of every phone in Fangtasia, just waiting to hear my response. Well, he could stew on that.

I stewed myself, I admit it. I slept fitfully, dreaming of a vat of white chocolate and, um, a Viking--but it was just mental associations, I told myself the next day. Besides, I was clearly thinking ahead to my plan.

I couldn't get him back. You can't out-embarrass Eric. It's just not possible. And Gran would rise from her grave to smack me upside the head if I pulled any of the tactics he did. No matter what he did, I was a lady.

I didn't want to call him or text him again, to yell at him. He'd just be his usual perverse self, and the next thing you'd know, I'd end up with body sauce on my pillow or something equally shocking.

So I figured I'd beard the lion in his proverbial den, Fangtasia. He didn't know I was coming--I didn't want to give him a chance to prepare. (Lord knows he's bad enough off-the-cuff.) He might actually listen to me face-to-face, I told myself virtuously, as I adjusted the deep neckline of my dress to a tasteful level of décolletage. And I might hear more about the fire and the investigation. I was obviously just going there to be a good friend, and to clear the air, I thought, rolling up the edge of my red skirt.

Obviously. While looking pretty damn good, if I do so say myself.

So I high-tailed it, out of the goodness of my heart, to Fangtasia. I entered via the front, as I didn't want to waste my sneak-attack by being received at the employee entrance by Eric himself.

Pam instead was the first familiar face I saw. "Why, Sookie, what a surprise." To my genuine surprise, she actually pecked me on the cheek--with her red-lacquered lips only, thank goodness. "Do come in--I know Eric would love to see you."

She practically dragged me into the main bar area. "He's meeting with Felipe's fire investigator now, but I am sure we could convince him to take a break." Pam's eagerness to disturb Eric was odd but then again, so were most of Pam's ways. I nodded and started to weave my way back to his office; maybe I'd just tap on the door, say hello, and then wait for him. I'd be wasting my time to ask Pam to tell him I was there--vamps didn't run messages.

Pam's perfect nails descended upon my shoulder. "Oh, no, he's not in his office. This is an _informal_ meeting." She gave the tiniest of nods to the left, and I swung my eyes after hers.

Eric was on the dance floor. This was not completely unusual; he loved dancing as much as I did. I was a bit surprised he'd be dancing at Fangtasia, though--I almost always saw him seated and looking bored at the bar, unless he was pulling me out to the floor.

So he was dancing to some sleazebag song, that was perfect for his sleazebag self, I thought. He was dancing with a tall woman--vamp, I judged, noting the tell-tale shimmer--with the kind of overblown body and bad hair job that Pamela Anderson would've liked.

"That's Evie. She's Felipe's fire investigator."

I didn't ask how one investigated fires on a dance floor. I was caught up in staring at them as she wove her way flirtatiously about him. He was letting that trashy Pamela Anderson wannabe rub her oversized behind against his groin. And he was laughing back at her, that laugh of his that made an unexpectedly sweet curve of his mouth, and reminded me every time of our time together when he was an amnesiac. And worse, she was laughing back at him, the--the--floozy! and she was daring to stroke his chin, lingering on that niche in his lightly bearded chin, that little cleft that just fit the tip of my ring finger.

"I didn't tell her about Lorena and Debbie. Should I?" I heard Pam murmur at my ear.

"I don't know what you mean," I managed, coldly. The woman was toying with the opened buttons at the top of his shirt as she danced, tapping the little hair there. I gripped the bar chair next to us.

She wasn't put off. "You can't break that off for a stake, but I can get you one. Just promise me that when we clean up, we destroy her purse, too."

That was weird enough to make me glance back at her. "Her purse? What's her purse to do with you?"

"Fake Vera Bradley. Abomination." She sniffed.

I had forgotten all about her horror, though, as I looked back again at Miss Ho '08. And Mr. Ho, I reminded myself, who had been making my life hell with his nasty packages and trashy talk.

I suddenly had a vicious headache--from the music and the light smoke that was making my eyes burn, sting. "I think I'll go--I'm not feeling too well."

Pam grabbed me before I got very far, spinning me back to her. "When have you been a coward, Sookie?"

"When I--when I--" I lost my train of thought, because I saw a golden head lift up in the distance, like a lion scenting prey. Oh, shit.

He was there in two seconds. "Sookie!" He grabbed my hands with his big ones before I could resist; I saw Pam stepping away from us. "I didn't know you were coming!" You'd think he was happy. Maybe it was vestiges of the cheap perfume from the "investigator" going to his head. One of them, anyway. "You are a vision, as always." His hair brushed my face as he bent to kiss me, but I turned my face obstinately away.

"Good evening, Eric." I lunged for and managed to grab Pam's arm--she was enjoying the show and hadn't moved far enough away. "I was just here to see Pam and now I'm going. Good-bye, now."

I started to stomp off, but that's hard to do in heels, and harder still with a giant vampire hot on your heels. "You'd not even say hello to me? You wound me, Sookie."

"You wouldn't know what that feels like," I muttered, shrugging his hand off my shoulder and dashing a hand against my face. Damned smoke.

"That's it," I heard him growl. This time, Pam did disappear--as did the majority of the club, as Eric simply picked me up and in a heartbeat, we were in his office again. "What's going on? What has upset you?"

"Why don't you go back to grinding on your girlfriend," I snapped, "And let me be. I'd like to go now, if that's not too much."

Understanding was flooding his features, and the puzzled look in his eyes settled onto something akin to when he killed, intent and without any humor. "You are angry that you saw me dancing with Evie."

"I don't care who 'shakes her assets' with you. It's none of my business, I'm sure," I sniffed, and turned away. Maybe I was being childish, or maybe I was just PMSing; I don't know. It just all felt very, very wrong, and not worth thinking about.

"What is this? You are furious with me for a dance?" He waved his arms in frustration. "A dance?"

To be perfectly true, I wasn't sure why I was mad, just that he was a dirty, untrustworthy, son of a bitch and I really needed to get out of there. "I don't have to explain myself to you, Eric Northman. Now I will be leaving, if you don't mind," I snapped, and snatched the door handle.

"I do mind," I heard him hiss into my ear; he was almost on top of me, his hands on the door and wall behind me, blocking me from leaving. I turned slowly; he didn't move an inch, so our bodies rubbed together as I moved to face him and his blazing blue eyes, millimeters from mine. "You may run from all other men, Sookie Stackhouse, but you are not running from me."


	17. Chapter 17

To be perfectly true, I wasn't sure why I was mad, just that he was a dirty, untrustworthy, son of a bitch and I really needed to get out of there. "I don't have to explain myself to you, Eric Northman. Now I will be leaving, if you don't mind," I snapped, and snatched the door handle.

"I do mind," I heard him hiss into my ear; he was almost on top of me, his hands on the door and wall behind me, blocking me from leaving. I turned slowly; he didn't move an inch, so our bodies rubbed together as I moved to face him and his blazing blue eyes, millimeters from mine. "You may run from all other men, Sookie Stackhouse, but you are not running from me."

"I'm not one of your flunkies. You can't bully me," I growled right back at him, trying to ignore the way my skin felt like pin-pricks all over, thanks to his proximity. He had no body heat, so I didn't feel that; instead, I just felt a shimmering awareness, a pull, located right below my navel.

Instead of anger, I saw amusement ripple over his handsome features, a slow smile breaking on his face like a rising sun. "That's my girl, always disobedient."

"I'm not your girl. And you will let me go immediately, Eric Northman."

He just laughed darkly and leaned in; I felt him inhale somewhere by my neck. "Oh, no, I don't think I will. You're too much fun."

"If you think this behavior is charming--"

"I think my lover is jealous," he interrupted, as if he hadn't heard a word I'd said. He continued to nuzzle my neck and shoulder, drawing in deep, contented breaths.

My hands shoved ineffectually at his big shoulders. "You would think that, you giant ass."

"I would, because it's true," he said simply. He drew his head back to look me in the eye. I jerked my face away and his fingers caught my chin, holding our faces so close that the little scruff on his face brushed mine. I could feel his breath when he spoke next. "Or do you want to tell me something else is bothering you?" I saw his blond eyebrows slide down.

I couldn't turn my face away, and I couldn't slip away, unless I resorted to means that might end up injuring Eric (or myself.) So I closed my wet eyes instead, waiting for him to get bored of playing me and let me go.

But he didn't. His lips starting placing light kisses on my shoulder, as one of his hands dropped to massage my hip. "If you don't want me dancing with another," he murmured, moving on to my neck, "you have only to tell me."

"No," I whispered. I realized his body was holding mine up, as my knees had already given way.

"Yes," he said softly, before dropping a kiss on my ear, his tongue touching just at that spot that always drove me wild.

I fought the moan that wanted to erupt from me, gasping instead, "Look, I was just--I overreacted, I was PMSing--"--he growled, reminding me I was dealing with a vampire, and not an ordinary man--"--I should just go--oh!" This time the moan came out, as I felt fingers caress me beneath my skirt. I opened my eyes to see his smug sapphire gaze bearing down me, just as my panties were pushed aside.

"Bastard!"

Ever the opportunist, he swooped down to capture my gaping mouth with his own lips and tongue.

"You--are--unbelievable," I gasped out, gulping air between the motions of his cool lips and agonizingly clever fingers. I grabbed his head and tried to give as good as I got, which is saying something, because the getting was rather good. If you get me.

Mary, mother of Jesus, I thought, and was too taken away, squirming against his hard hand, to feel guilty about the blasphemy. I had a feeling Eric would be very good at patting his head and rubbing his stomach at the same time; he's definitely very good at using his tongue and his fingers simultaneously. He added another hand to my breast, somehow figuring out how to manipulate all three parts of me at once. Quite expertly, I had to concede.

"I know," he groaned, as I licked at the rough skin of his chin. Let that hussy touch him there again!

He apparently approved of me marking my territory, as he grabbed me about the waist with his free hand, lifted me up, and spun us both in the direction of his desk. As he brought me down on it, he shoved his computer off with brutal efficiency, then followed me down on it.

"Your computer," I couldn't help but protest.

"Has a virus," he growled into my ear, pressing his lower body into my center. Mr. Happy was really making an appearance, I noticed. A very, very obvious appearance, which grew more pronounced when I wiggled to better position us on the desk. I wiggled again experimentally and felt his enthusiastic response. Why, hi to you, too, I thought, and pulled one of my hands from Eric's perfectly rounded backside to give him a hello-stroke. He hissed, and arched his body against mine, allowing me to give his neck another long lick; I pushed my hips up against his. I shoved my other hand up under his shirt, rubbing the magnificent spread of back muscles there. I felt a breeze--there went another pair of panties, I realized. Not that I much cared at the moment.

"If you don't get your pants off in two seconds, I'm going to--"

He lifted his head from where he'd been licking and nipping his way down my décolletage, his smile making me more helpless than the hard body holding me down. His blue eyes were glowing with triumph. "I live to serve, you know."

I pulled him back up to me, grabbing for his belt. "_Now_, Eric," I whispered, drawing his damned smug mouth to me for a kiss. Or twenty.

"Gladly," he murmured, rolling his hips into me one last time, before he reached between us, his hand at his zipper. I bit down on his collar bone, to encourage him to speed it up--a little biting always got Eric's engine going, I knew.

And then he froze, rolling us both down in a blur behind the desk, so fast that I didn't have time to say anything more significant than a shocked "Oh!" Dimly, I heard a door's creak and with my usual good sense, swore audibly. "Oh, shit, not again!"

"You were saying, Sookie?" Pam's voice was, without question, highly amused.

I pushed away from Eric, who had drawn me on top of him as we'd crashed to the floor behind the desk; I'd actually accidentally scraped him with my teeth when I landed, I saw, observing a tiny smear of blood on his chest. Automatically, I shoved my skirt down and made sure my boobs weren't completely showing, scrambling to stand, scowling for all I was worth. I couldn't even wish looks could kill, given my target was the undead.

Pam was openly smirking in the doorway. Beside her, the infamous Evie eyed us from under penciled-in eyebrows. "We heard a crash. Computer problems, Eric?"

Eric was now flopping into the chair, adjusting his t-shirt. "It crashed," he said coolly. "You know I can't stand these things."

"Of course," Pam responded, as if his belt was not on the floor, alongside my purse and the entire contents of the desktop: a destroyed monitor, keyboard, calendar, the framed photo of yours truly with Claude, and an endless supply of paperclips. I didn't want to know where my panties had landed. She turned to glance at Evie behind her. "Evie, this is Eric's dear _friend_, Sookie. She is quite essential for Eric's most important business. Don't you agree, Eric? She works so _well_ under him--"

"Indispensable," he responded tightly. "Now, if you'll excuse us, Sookie and I have urgent business to discuss--"

"Very pressing, I am sure." Pam smiled serenely. "I will take Evie back to the bar, then." The door started to swing shut, when she popped her head back in. "Oh, Eric? You stained your jeans." The door clicked closed.

"Remind me not to give her a Christmas bonus," Eric told me, as we heard her laugh from the hallway.


	18. Chapter 18

"Remind me not to give her a Christmas bonus," Eric told me, as we heard her laugh from the hallway.

After a stunned minute, I moved automatically to start cleaning up the mess we'd made on the floor. Silently, I knelt down and started collecting the paper clips that had been scattered in the wake of our interrupted "discussion." My face felt like it was on fire; I didn't want to know what the rest of Fangtasia was thinking of our shenanigans. What was it with Eric, that this always happened to me? And where on earth had he thrown my underwear?

I was in the midst of my ruminations (my Word of the Day) when I felt a slight chill on the back of my upper thighs, and, well, an area that shouldn't ever feel a breeze. I glanced back to see a certain six-foot-four Viking standing back there, lifting up my skirt with his foot while cocking his head at my backside.

I screeched and yanked my skirt back down. "Eric! What in the hell do you think you're doing!"

"Admiring the view," he answered without the slightest trace of shame.

"Would you get down here and help me clean up?"

He huffed as if I'd asked him to scrub the floors--for a vampire, "helping" has a constantly unpleasant, pedestrian overtone--and crouched next to me. "I'd rather help you in other ways." He ran a hand down my arm, and I'd be lying to say it had no effect on me. "Let that be, Sookie. We have other matters to address, don't you agree?"

"I'm not leaving this mess for any of the staff!" I hissed back, glancing at the door. Who knew when Pam or the waitresses would peek back in. "It's bad enough they all think we were--were--"

"Yes?" He was before my eyes before I could blink, his own eyes wide and blue, like he'd never ever had a thought that wasn't innocent.

To stop myself from falling into those eyes, I shook my head and grabbed for the desk planner. He allowed me to toss it back on the desk, rocking back to watch me with an amused air. That just flustered me further. "It doesn't matter. Let's just pack this up and then, um--I think I'm going to head out to the bar and grab a drink."

"Very well." He smirked at me, then scowled when I pointed at the destroyed monitor. With another long-suffering sigh, he picked up the monitor and put it on the desk. Eric was clearly not one for manual labor.

We got the floor relatively tidy, although I was sure there were still paperclips under the desk--but I wasn't about to go crawling around, given Eric's interest in lifting my skirt whenever possible. (If he were a mortal man, he'd have had a bruise from the number of times I swatted his hand from trying to take a peek, but that didn't put him off at all.) That left one pressing issue still to be resolved--what had happened to my panties. Even Eric had no clue of what he did with them ("Why did you think I bought you more?"), but I wasn't going to prance around Fangtasia like some Hollywood starlet. I was a lady, after all--although a lady who had just been about to get splinters on her backside on Eric's desk, I grant you.

I finally gave up. "Don't you guys sell Fangtasia underwear?" I searched my memory. "Or where did Pam get those panties she gave me after the maenad attacked me?"

Eric's head twisted around from where he'd been looking amidst the cracks of the stock boxes. "Pam gave you underthings?"

"Yes, when you all saved me--I had a shower here, and I borrowed your shirt. You must remember; I was so nasty."

"Oh, I remember." His grin was enormous. "That was a wonderful day."

"Hello! I was the one who almost died!"

He shrugged. "But you didn't, and I got to see those." He blew a kiss in the general direction of my chest; I glared at him and folded my arms over my boobs. "And you looked so nice in my shirt, too. It was very becoming. Although not as becoming as your skin." His eyes were not on my face, and he licked his lips at the memory.

I glared as hard as I could; when he finally felt my gaze, he lifted his head and he just smirked. "Anyway. I was naked, and Pam helped me into the shower, and then she got me your shirt and some bikinis, because my things were ruined. So she must've gotten them somewhere, right? I thought y'all had the ones with the Fangtasia logo at the shop in the front?"

Eric seemed to be off on another planet. I watched him, mystified, as he leaned into the stock shelving; his gaze became distant and his grin stretched even further. "I think I need to hear more about this…She undressed you, got you into our shower…Did she bathe you?"

Something about his pose tipped me off. "Oh, Eric, gross!" Maybe Pam might have had such thoughts, but I definitely hadn't. I threw the nearest thing--my purse--at him, but he caught it easily, guffawing at my rosy face.

Somehow I managed to convince him to scoot and grab me one of the Fangtasia-themed panties sold at the gift stand. (Eric wanted to see me wearing them but I insisted he step out of the office when I put them on--I knew him too well to expect he wouldn't peek, if I asked him to turn his back.) He wanted to stay in his office, ostensibly to talk about the fire, but I figured we'd end up "talking" as we had before, and I wasn't quite ready for that. Not that I'd already lost one pair of undies, anyway. I wasn't much ready to face the gossip-mongers out front (including Pam), either, but I figured that was better than being locked up with Eric again. Lord knows, if the arsonist came back and caught us in his office again, we probably wouldn't even notice the office was on fire.

So that's how I came to be sitting by Eric in his booth, where everybody in Fangtasia kept peeking at us, and the waitresses kept hustling up to fill my drinks. (Eric must've thought I was dehydrated--the minute I emptied a drink, I'd see him glance to the bar, and here would come another fangbanger with a glass for me.) Tempted as I was--from stress, hormones, and not knowing what at all I was doing with a certain Viking vampire--I opted to dial back the booze after the first two drinks; I've dealt with too many drunks at Merlotte's to admire any driver who deliberately lets herself get soused.

The little liquor in me, though, was enough to get me well and tired. I wasn't dancing--I guessed Eric wasn't in the mood for any waltzes tonight, and I didn't want my hips anywhere near his, or I'd be biting my pillow in frustration tonight. We were just sitting and chatting, gossiping like the pals we were, and I was becoming steadily more tired. All the while, the big clock above the bar moved its hands forward, reminding me I had a long and cold drive back to Bon Temps tonight, and I just wanted to snuggle under a warm blanket instead.

"You are tired." Eric's voice rumbled by my ear, making me twitch a little; I had my hand in my chin, my eyes slit halfway open. I didn't even have the energy to knock his hand away when it squeezed my thigh--beneath my skirt, naturally. "I can rouse you."

I snorted--rouse or arouse, with Eric, it was all the same. "No, thanks. I ought to head off, anyway, or I'll just fall asleep here. Long day, y'know."

His lips twisted in a wry smile. "I know. But why go? Why not just fall asleep here?" His hand was now sliding upwards, and I used some of my remaining energy to swat his fingers. He offered me a cool smirk; his eyebrow flicked upwards unrepentantly. "You could stay, you know. You are welcome."

"Yeah, sure, Fangtasia has a motel service. Is that your next business?" I moved my foot forward and realized I was nudging Eric's. Well, no wonder he was so friendly. I didn't move my foot back, either. I blame the alcohol.

"Right now, I think that would have its merits. But I was thinking for the moment, perhaps you'd like an alternative?" He looked up from his study of his True Blood, fixing the full power of his beautiful eyes on me. His voice had dropped to that smoky tone that did very, very wrong things to my lower body.

I groaned and closed my eyes. Why did I have to worry about the blood bond, when my libido happily did whatever he wanted? Well, I had to remember my standards--badly buffeted as they were tonight. "Eric, I can't--"

I felt his fingers slide across my hand, reminding me of a night when I'd gone to bed holding that hand. Damn him. "Nothing is required of you. I offer you my home. As you offered me yours."

I felt my hand twist of its own accord to fit into his palm, just as it had that night. A piece of me throbbed, and for once, it was not located beneath my belt. I kept my eyes closed. "That is not a good idea…"

The cushion gave as he slid closer to me--his hair brushed my face as he leaned in. "Since when did we care about good ideas?"

I opened my eyes but I didn't have to worry about his--he was nuzzling my shoulder again. "Come home with me, lover."

"Shhh," I pushed at his knee. "I want to sleep. And you're making everybody stare at us."

The problem with being with Eric is that 1.) everybody does stare and 2.) they instantly glance away when he lifts his head, so he tends to think you're crazy for protesting. Or he just doesn't care, which is very much a possibility with Eric. He shot a glance around the bar--with everybody consumed in their own tasks and not watching us, of course--and then looked back at me. "Mmmmm, nice distraction there, Sookie."

"It wasn't. And I still want to sleep. Not what you want to do."

He shrugged. "We could…cuddle." He winked. "I am very good at that."

I swatted him on the wrist absently--I knew it had no more impact on him than if I'd poked him with a finger-tip, but it was the point that counted. "No."

"Problem, Sookie?" And there she was again, either the savior of my virtue or the biggest pain in my ass next to the Viking currently rubbing his knee next to mine--at the moment, I was too groggy to figure out which.

Eric took over the responsibility for updating our chaperone. "She is tired and being obstinate about staying over here. She is not fit to drive home, do you not agree, Pam?"

Pam looked at Eric, looked at me, and then gave us both her sly grin. "I agree. Sookie, you ought to stay over in Shreveport. I am sure Eric would be happy to have you."

I sputtered briefly on my Coke. If Eric was bothered by the innuendo, he didn't respond. I guess I should've been happy--knowing him, he might very well have announced at the top of his lungs just how happy he'd be to "have" me. "Thanks for the suggestion to both of you, but no, I really don't feel comfortable imposing. I'll just head home."

"You will not," Eric started, apparently giving up on the "How to Sweet-Talk Sookie" manual and heading straight towards his usual tactics. "I for--"

"You can stay with me," Pam interrupted. Eric looked about as flabbergasted as I did, but he got his wind back first.

"She's staying with me, Pam," he growled.

Pam gave him a look last seen on the Cheshire cat. "But she just said she's not comfortable. She ought to stay with me." She switched her focus to me, currently cowering against the bench. I considered Pam on the short list of my vamp friends, but there were limits. A vampire slumber-party was not my idea of a good time (no matter if it were the stuff of Eric's fantasies). "I have a guest bedroom. I just finished the decorating." I knew from Bill that vamps were often into redoing places--Lord knows, they had the time to go through a lot of styles. You try living with the same paint job for a few hundred years and see if you're not bored. "You will come and stay. Just us. The girls." She shot Eric a look. "Abby says women should have female friends."

Eric looked like he was ready to declare his own opinions of Dear Abby, and I found myself diving in to defuse the situation. You'd think I'd learn, but I didn't get in the hospital so many times for nothing. "Fine, that's what I will do. I'll stay overnight at Pam's and be on my way in the morning. Happy now?"

"Perfect." Pam's fangs flashed. That was beaming, on Pam's terms.

"Ecstatic," my companion said shortly, observing me through slits of blue. Oops. I guess I was in the doghouse. I glanced over at Pam, who was watching me from over folded arms.

"Then it is settled. Sookie and I are going to have a little girls' night." There went the fangs again. "It will be one to remember."


	19. Chapter 19

"Then it is settled. Sookie and I are going to have a little girls' night." There went the fangs again. "It will be one to remember."

Somehow, Pam got us out to my car before Eric--whose face had gone white and unreadable--could erupt into the snit I knew was just bubbling up in him. I was still waiting for him to storm out to the parking area and order Pam back into the bar, when she propelled me into the passenger side and slid behind the wheel.

"Eric will drive me to the bar tomorrow," she said in explanation, throwing my car into reverse as I grabbed desperately for my seatbelt. (Supes tend to have little concern about speed limits, I knew from driving with Eric.) "My Pacifica will remain here tonight."

That brought me out of my gawking and back to my manners. "Look, Pam, I'm so sorry to impose--really, I could just drive back to my house--you know, Eric was just--"

"Caring." She flashed her fangs at me. "He does tend to get that way when you are around."

Pam's not known for being subtle. I tried, still, to dodge her. "Well, as you said, he's a good boss…"

She snorted, whipping my little car through a turn as if she were Danica Patrick. I clung to the door helplessly, hoping she remembered I could end up sprayed all over the road, even if she couldn't. Then again, I thought, maybe that wasn't an idea I'd want to put in her head. It wouldn't have quite the same impact on her as it did on me. "He is a good boss. And a good lover. What do you think of him in bed?"

"Pam!" I yelled, not even worrying if I startled her and ended up 100 mph roadkill.

She gave me a cool, assessing look. "What? Don't try to say you haven't been with him. I've smelled him on you since he stayed at your home. And the smell is quite a bit stronger now."

"That's still--that's private business!"

She shrugged. "Your modesty is misplaced. You forget, I have been with him as well. We had sex many, many times, after I was turned." She gave me a fangy smile. "If he were not Eric, I think I would have discovered women earlier! But he convinced me there might be some good in men, silly creature that I was then." She caught my stunned glance. "You are aware he is quite superb in bed, are you not? Not all men are like that. I gather you are not a woman of great experience, but that should be obvious. I especially liked it when he would put his tongue--"

Whatever she was about to say, I wasn't ready to hear. "Pam, _please!_" I'm sure my protest came out muffled, because I had my burning face in my hands.

Apparently, that wasn't enough for Pam, because she kept on. I wondered if she'd read a Sex Ed column in place of Dear Abby that day. "He has also a great deal of endurance. Even vampire men have their limits, you know. Men." She snorted again. "But my master is able to satisfy a woman for almost the entire night--probably more than one." Woman or night, I wasn't sure what she meant, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know. "He has quite the stamina. To say nothing of his body. He's very well endowed." I heard her silvery laugh. "But I am sure you know that."

I actually did (as my dreams reminded me on a frequent basis), but it was one thing to know what Eric was packing, another thing entirely to talk about it with somebody else. Even if I knew Eric would probably appreciate this distaff version of locker room talk--he would preen like nobody's business, and probably ask for re-enactments--it wasn't etiquette to talk about such things. "If you want him so much, why don't you go sleep with him," I grumbled behind my hands. I knew perfectly well Pam wasn't playing on my team, so to speak, but I didn't know how else to shut her up.

She wasn't offended at all, of course. Short of suggesting she wear Crocs, I'm not quite sure you could offend Pam. "Oh, no. He lacks what I require." She gave me a once-over to make it clear what exactly Eric lacked. "And he's had no difficulty finding women over the years--many, many women. We have a hard time with many of the men patrons, because their women keep throwing themselves at Eric."

"Thanks, Pam."

She ignored me. "But it is not as it was. He has not been his normal self, as I told you, since the time he stayed with you." She gave me a Meaningful Look, as if I'd personally stolen Eric's mojo. Having been the victim of it many a time over, I had my doubts just how absent that was, anyway. "He needs to settle this. And he would be better off with a woman who appreciated his qualities, not some bar trash he was just screwing for the night."

"Thanks, Pam." I barely noticed she was pulling into a driveway of a little ranch house.

"A woman like yourself. And he does like the blondes," she added, laughing merrily, as I scrambled for the door and escape.

Given it was night, it was hard to see Pam's house, but from what I could tell, the exterior fit her: white picket fence, some landscaping, even a jaunty little garden flag, with a garden gnome next to it. "That was a gift from my master," Pam said, pointing at the gnome. "He was amused to make it more…correct." As we walked up the drive, I could see what she meant: someone had modified the gnome so that it had a set of pointy fangs emerging from its mouth.

"Does he live around here?" I glanced at the darkened neighbors' home, wondering if a red Corvette would soon be flying up its drive.

"Oh, no." Pam pushed open the door easily. "He refuses to live in a neighborhood association." She rolled her eyes as we entered the house.

I didn't have time to inquire about Eric's objections to a neighborhood association, because I was pre-occupied with my surroundings. We walked through an immaculate peach-hued living room to a sky blue-and-white kitchen, outfitted with ridiculously expensive appliances for a woman who didn't cook. "This is my kitchen. I keep food in here for my mortal guests. You may take anything you require." She pointed at the living area. "Come, I will give you a tour."

It wasn't a long tour--the house wasn't big. But Pam seemed to enjoy showing off her décor tastes to a woman. (I had my doubts Eric would've gushed as enthusiastically as I did over the Laura Ashley-styled bathroom, after all.)

"What, no dungeon?" I asked as we ended up near the guest bedroom.

"That's downstairs," she responded, not batting an eyelash. "Along with my whip. Do make yourself at home."

Hastily resolving not to ever, ever go to Pam's basement, I followed her into the guest bedroom. "This is where you may sleep. You will be safe here." She paused as I drifted around the room, looking at the furniture. "Bill's not larger than Eric, is he?"

I had just been admiring the armoire and I guess I was either tired or wasn't thinking fast, because I actually started to answer. "You've seen him--Bill's a foot shorter than Eric…._Pam!_" I whipped around and shook my finger at her. "That is not an appropriate question!"

She didn't look embarrassed in the slightest. I thought of this as the vamp poker face. "What? I wondered why you bothered with that sad sack when my master was always after you. Is this why you haven't bedded Eric again? Do you need _closure_ with Bill?" She asked the question with undisguised eagerness now--apparently, witnessing a Dear Abby moment was right up there with getting a blood infusion, for Pam's excitement.

Part of me wanted to point out that, but for a few Pam interruptions, things might be different--but another part of me very loudly declared suggesting anything to Pam would be a bad, bad idea. "What on earth has gotten into you? Why are you asking me these things?"

"Isn't that what women do in girl-talk?" she asked matter-of-factly. "I am willing to share. I remember, Eric has a charming birthmark on his body, right next to his testicles. Have you seen it?"

"Okay, now that's enough." I tried to sound stern, but my voice squeaked helplessly. I think I heard Pam snicker, but she gave me some mercy--she dug around in the closet and threw some clothing on a chair. "You can wear this sweater and these slacks tomorrow. I don't have a bra that will fit you, I'm afraid. And here's a nightgown." Pam's idea of a nightgown wasn't quite the same as mine, I noticed, but took it anyway. She was only trying to be kind, after all.

"Thanks, Pam, I'll just be getting ready for bed, then."

"Sweet dreams." She shot me a wink as she left the room--too fast for me to chuck a pillow at the door.

I changed and got ready for bed quickly; even though Pam had been talking up Eric's, err, finer qualities, all things considered, I still didn't want to lounge around in a nearly transparent nightie when she was around. I hopped into the bed and grabbed one of the romance novels Pam had left for me. (We swapped copies regularly, although Pam complained mine were too tame. Tonight, she'd left out a stack of ones featuring large blond men on the cover, I noticed.) I was about twenty pages in, with the hero and the heroine already sparking, when I heard a knock on the window.

I had clearly been around Supes too long, because I didn't yell; I just popped out of bed and marched over to the window, to see a grinning Eric hovering there. I slid the window open irritably. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Seeing you. Back up, Sookie." I took a step backward and he zoomed into the room, rising to his feet next to me.

"Whatever happened to an invitation?" I scrambled backwards, abruptly aware that I was wearing a transparent nightie that barely covered my butt, with my boobs half-visible beneath the panel of lace at the top. Eric's fangs were fully out, his shoulders turned like a cat about to spring on a bit of cat-nip. Vamp-nip, that's me.

"This is my child's home. I am free to enter." He slid his eyes, very dark now, up me, inch by inch. "And I am so glad I came."

"Look, I don't know what you want, but I'm going to sleep." I jerked the flowered comforter up for self-defense and slid into the bed. Maybe Laura Ashley would be my savior?

He wasn't put off. Probably if I wore a nun's habit, he wouldn't be put off. "I came to say good-night to you, lover." He shucked off his leather jacket. Uh-oh. "After all, my night is still young." He pulled off his shirt, and ran a hand lingeringly down his abs. "And I find myself in need of rest."

"Then you ought to just go home to your own place. Scoot!"

He shook his head, toeing off his boots. "But how could I leave you, all alone? You're always in trouble. Something bad could happen to you." He smiled slowly and slid his jeans down, maintaining eye contact with me all the while. Today's choice was a pair of gray cotton boxer-briefs that molded to his form very, very, very, very nicely. Oh, if only that "something bad" could happen to me. I swallowed hard.

"I'll take that as a compliment." He smirked and I was pathetically gawking too much to even give a smart-ass response back. "Oh, I forgot, you liked this best." He spun around, showing me the full power of that luscious world-class backside; I could feel him looking over his shoulder at me, no doubt laughing his head off, but I wasn't looking at his face to be sure. "You want them off?"

_Oh, yes, Santa, I've been a very good girl. _"No!" I gasped out in a strangled voice. Clearly, divine intervention had saved me, because I don't know how I had the strength to turn that down. "Now, you put your clothes on right now, Eric, because whatever you were thinking, you're not getting. I came here to sleep. Goodnight." And I flopped back into the pillows, squishing my eyes shut dramatically. I felt the mattress give way under another weight. "I am not having sex with you, Eric Northman. This is Pam's house and that would just be tacky."

"Oh, agreed," he said virtuously, as if he hadn't been sporting, well, quite a lot of interest in the situation. His voice was right by my ear, and I felt the blankets lift as he slid up next to me.

I jumped when his hand slid across my stomach--under my nightie, of course. His amused face was a fraction of an inch away when I flipped around, so I flipped right back away, slapping the offending hand. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Resting. Like you. Now go to sleep, lover, I'm tired from fending off your insatiable sexual advances."

I snorted into my pillow but sure enough, the hand on my stomach didn't wander (much). And somehow, with a half-naked vampire snuggled up to me like his own personal doll, I did fall asleep.


	20. Chapter 20

I snorted into my pillow but sure enough, the hand on my stomach didn't wander (much). And somehow, with a half-naked vampire snuggled up to me like his own personal doll, I did fall asleep.

I must've been exhausted, because I did sleep like the proverbial rock for most of the night. I only woke up twice, and I blame Eric entirely for that. The first time, I drifted to consciousness after a certain Someone cleared his throat by my ear; I realized, coming to, my face pressed into a man's chest, that my hands had latched themselves onto a rear end that wasn't my own. The second time, I simply woke up to find Eric propped up over me and looking down thoughtfully. His skin glowed, thanks to the moonlight as well as his vampirism, and he looked a sight. Greek statues, be damned, I thought, tentatively moving a hand to slowly trace the curving muscles cut into his chest. I wanted to tell him he was beautiful, but his long fingers lifting my chin stopped me; his eyes were too dark to read, but I saw no smile on face as he bent to kiss me. From my experience, I can say Eric has many kisses in his repertoire. But this time he was torturously slow and delicate, as if I might dissolve beneath his lips if he did not take care. With the same gentleness, he poured himself over me, his long, lean body lying over mine but barely touching me as we kissed. Whatever he was doing was working some kind of magic, unleashing something painfully bright and shining in my chest. He clearly no more wanted to talk than I did--or at least talk verbally--but something nagged at me, until I gave in.

I pushed his shoulder slightly and he slid back, to let me breathe. "Eric---we're at Pam's--" He lifted an eyebrow inquisitively, clearly not following. I cut to the chase. "It'd be rude."

Now both eyebrows went up. "You want to invite her?"

"No!"

"Then what is the issue?"

"I can't--not in her house, Eric. Not when I'm her guest." He seemed to think of possible objections, but a glance at my face stopped him from expressing them. "I'm really sorry, I--"

He flopped down next to me on the bed; the frame shook slightly but at least we didn't break it. "You are going to give me a condition, woman." He tugged me next to him. "Go to sleep so that I can of think of something other than fucking you."

I slept fitfully after that. When I finally woke up, it was in the early dawn, and Eric was gone, the only sign of him being the jacket left on the pile of Pam's borrowed clothes. I gathered this meant it was nippy outside, a conclusion confirmed by the frost on the window. I eyed the coat again; I would probably drown in that thing, but the gesture was nice, nonetheless.

I began to hustle to get ready to go. Lurking around Pam's in the day just felt weird, and besides, it's not like I didn't have laundry to do back in Bon Temps. I made the bed, trying not to wonder what Pam would think about Eric's scent being all over it, did up the morning dishes I'd used (ignoring the Count Chocula cereal parked obviously on the table--I had no doubt that was Eric's work), and scrawled out a thank-you note. I'd send a proper one when I got home, and maybe a little flower or something, but it was the least I could do, given I couldn't say bye in person.

That left me trotting outside, frosted grass crunching under my shoes, to my car.

_Stupid bitch bloodsucker leech on all of us_.

Okay, now _that_ wasn't what I expected to hear first thing in the morning. I held still by my old car, looking around.

_Burn baby burn_.

I couldn't wait to figure out what was going on; I just started moving, kicking off my shoes, running clumsily in my borrowed clothing in the general direction of the voice. If this were a mall, I'd have no hope of seeing the person, but suburbia at 5:30 is not a mall.

I rounded the corner of the little ranch and ran, literally, into a large male figure. We both bounced to the ground, him grunting, me gasping. Something struck me, above the smell of Eric's cologne in the coat: the sickly-sweet smell of gasoline.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The guy--mid forties, heavyset, blond, dressed like a worker in jeans and sweats--just blinked at me, then scrambled up and started to run. I was too upset and angry to think--and my feet were damn cold, I'll have you know, so I sprinted after him like a crazy woman, screeching my head off.

"YOU ARE NOT BURNING DOWN MY FRIEND'S HOUSE, DO YOU HEAR ME, ASSHOLE?"

He turned to throw the gas can at me, but he missed. (Thank goodness for Grandpa's reflexes, I guess.) I dove at him again, this time taking him by the knees; we went down in the front yard, destroying Pam's landscaping as we went. She was going to be pissed as all hell about her roses, but I figured it was better than being toasted like a vampire marshmallow.

"Shut the hell up, bitch!" Mr. Gasoline gave me a good ringing slap to the jaw before jumping to his feet. I saw Tweetybird and stars before my rage kicked in.

"I don't think so!" I grabbed the first thing at hand--Eric's little vampire gnome--and brought it with both hands down on the guy's thigh, hard.

"SONOFABITCH!" He howled, before kicking me under the chin. I'd been exposed to a lot of abuse thanks to my associations with the Supes, but I hadn't had that particular joy yet. As I flopped backward, he took advantage of the time to hop the bush and run.

The neighborhood was abruptly silent again as I lay there, sprawled out and panting, on Pam's yard. I let my eyes adjust and stared across the street as a jogger in perfectly matched blue lyrcra drew up next to me. "You okay, hon?"

"Just--peachy."


	21. Chapter 21

"Just--peachy."

The jogger, Brenda, insisted that we call the cops, although I felt a bit like an idiot for doing so. It was still the best option, I realized, for getting some daytime defense of Pam's house (assuming that was the target) and maybe figuring out how to neutralize the gasoline that had been dumped by the perimeter. Brenda also wanted me to call for an ambulance for myself, but I didn't want the hospital bills if I could afford to skip them. Just yet, anyway. If I still felt awful in a few days, I promised her, I'd get checked out.

The Shreveport cops were only marginally more efficient than Andy Bellefleur, I found out. At first, they were mesmerized when I mentioned I was staying with Pam, and the thoughts started bombarding me like a sudden shower of ick:

_Rack like that, I'd like to see her with anybody, vamp or not…_

_Did she just saw the owner's a chick too? So she's into chicks? Wow, wish I had video of that…_

As Pam herself had said to me, "men." What the hell is wrong with them?

I wrapped myself up tighter in Eric's big coat and tried to get their minds out of the gutter. "I was staying over because my--my--" What did one call Eric? I could hardly say, "Well, I was jumping his bones like there was no tomorrow ages ago, but he had amnesia, and now he's got his memory back, and we've been flirting a bit, until a few days ago, when I licked him--his arm, that is--and we've been about to have sex several times since, no thanks to Pam, whose home almost got torched today." If there were any women officers around, and if they ever saw Eric, those gals would lock me up in a jiffy for having one hell of a motive.

"Um, my _friend_, Eric Northman, couldn't keep me over, as he had to stay late at the bar he owns." It was a weird answer, I grant you, but I wasn't about to tell them I didn't want to stay with Eric because he'd already ruined two pairs of my panties, and I feared for the rest of my clothing.

"Bar?" The cops exchanged a look.

"Fangtasia." I grinned as I said it, as I always did. And as always, I was the only who appreciated the absurdity of the name. The cops just looked at each other again, this time grimly. Then the older one looked at me. "Ma'am, are you saying you're involved with that Eric Northman, the vampire?"

My gran would have washed his mouth out for asking such a question of a lady. Of course, my gran would also have had a few punishments lined up for me, if she knew some of the things I'd thought around Eric. "Eric Northman is my _friend_. I don't think anything else is your business."

"Mmm-hmmm," the old one answered. His mind was broadcasting away: _Sure, lady, he gave you his coat out of friendship. What does a coat like that cost, anyway? _"Well, let's go file the report, Jim. Ma'am, we'll be in touch if we need to ask more questions."

And that was the extent of Shreveport's crime-fighting skills, I found out. No wonder Eric was such a big deal; not only was he sheriff for the vampires, but he clearly didn't have much opposition in terms of keeping the law in this area.

I hunkered down in Pam's spotless living room afterwards, trying to figure out my next step as I stared at a stack of _Martha Stewart Living_ and _O _magazines. Somebody needed to watch the place--or Pam--until the vamps could figure out the next step. What if the guy came back? Was he connected to the arsonist who struck Fangtasia?

I text-messaged Eric but I figured I'd not get a response right away; he'd just have gone to bed, after all. And Pam--well, there was no hope of waking her, I knew from experience. I frowned into my cell phone. Who else could help me? Who else knew the weird dynamics of the vamps and might know where to go? Who else was up in the daytime? There was only one Supe I trusted completely on that front.

"Sookie? Why are you calling so early? Is something wrong?"

Thank goodness Sam never shifted into a late-sleeping dog. "I'm in a bit of a jam, Sam, and I need a little input." I explained to him how I'd ended up at Pam's, omitting the part about trying to avoid another sexual encounter with Eric, of course. Sam didn't need to know _everything_.

From the long "ooooohhh" Sam emitted, it came to me that he might be partaking in the same visions of the silly policemen. "Sam Merlotte, this was not some slumber party! Now, get your dirty thoughts out of your head." Apparently, this was some kind of fantasy for any kind of human male, living, dead, shifting. At least I could be sure that my old fairy friend, Claude, wouldn't have appreciated it.

Sam just laughed me off, and denied everything, so I hurried on with my story. He sobered right up when I mentioned catching the gasoline guy, and how he'd struck me. At first, typical Sam, he was more outraged on my part than on Pam's: "Jesus, Sook! You're out with the vamps and yet _again_, you end up black and blue. When are you going to realize they're all just bad news?"

Well, it wasn't like I hadn't heard that song before. I managed to hustle him past the obligatory "lecture-Sookie-about-bad-vamps" moment in just a few minutes, before he settled down enough to really give me some input. "Look, I'll put in some calls to some shifters I know--they'll keep an eye on her place. Is that good enough?"

I gnawed on my lip. "I'm just worried, Sam, because she's somewhere in here." I didn't want to mention "the basement." "What if the guy makes it back, despite your friends?"

Sam huffed. "Look, Sook, I've got an option, but I don't really like it, and you're not going to like it, either."

Since when did what I liked matter? I think that stopped when I ended up falling for a guy who couldn't have breakfast with me. "What is it?"

"Eric's day guy. I've got his number here." There was a pause before I heard him say, sheepishly, "Eric gave me his number…in case."

"In case?"

"Well, after he sent over that bartener, Twining, he asked for his favor, you know? He wanted me to keep an eye on you and help you out if he couldn't be around, and let him know if there was anything you needed, if you didn't tell him first. It wasn't like I wouldn't have done it without being asked," he poured out defensively.

Oh, great, more macho bullshit. My temper was rarin' to go, but Sam jumped in before I could unleash the full Stackhouse fury. "Don't get all pissed off, now, Sookie. He got me out of his debt for doing something I'd have done normally, which is help you if you wanted it. And you know I'd always help you."

Well, that was true. And it explained why Eric came lurking around the bar when I smashed Calvin's hand, why Sam bothered to call him. "Did he swear you to secrecy? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you'd get all worked up, like you're getting now." Okay, point there. I remembered the look Eric and Sam shot each other when I'd told them about Jason making me stand up for him. Yes, I could see those two getting along better than they'd like, especially where I was concerned.

"Fine, but I reserve the right to have a little chat with both of you later. What now?"

With Sam's assistance, we got in touch with Eric's day man, Bobby. Bobby (who seemed not the slightest bit surprised to be called so early in the morning, or to be called by Sam and yours truly) arranged for Anubis Movers to come for Pam and to move her into the local high-security vampire hotel, the same place Felipe stayed when he came into town. (I did request the best suite, figuring it was the least I could for Pam.) She'd have a note explaining everything, he assured me, and would not be completely disoriented when she woke up. In addition, he'd have extra day security at Fangtasia. Nothing would be done for Eric's resting place, because none of us knew where that was; as Sam himself pointed out, if the arsonist really _was_ after the Fangtasia crew and not just Pam, and if the arsonist had all of the addresses, he/she would have gone after Eric first. "The fact they went for Pam says--if this guy is even related to your Fangtasia incident, and we don't know--either they don't know where Eric is, or they're scared shitless to get near him while he's sleeping. He'll be safe till night, I promise."

Sam's reassurances didn't quite put me to rights. I stayed till Anubis came for Pam, in their great big moving van. (I was told by Bobby that the moving service was quite normal, and not just a branch of their airline service. Vamps had to get around, too.) I didn't show them where her coffin was, although I guessed (correctly) it was in the basement; I did pat her coffin (trimmed with mother-of-pearl, I noticed) awkwardly. It was only after they left that I slipped behind the wheel of my car, still feeling out of sorts in my borrowed clothes, before heading off to Bon Temps. All of this, and I hadn't even had breakfast yet.


	22. Chapter 22

Sam's reassurances didn't quite put me to rights. I stayed till Anubis came for Pam, in their great big moving van. (I was told by Bobby that the moving service was quite normal, and not just a branch of their airline service. Vamps had to get around, too.) I didn't show them where her coffin was, although I guessed (correctly) it was in the basement; I did pat her coffin (trimmed with mother-of-pearl, I noticed) awkwardly. It was only after they left that I slipped behind the wheel of my car, still feeling out of sorts in my borrowed clothes, before heading off to Bon Temps. All of this, and I hadn't even had breakfast yet.

Adrenaline can only get you so far; I got home feeling a slug, boneless and slow-moving. My face was hurting from the attack, but I figured I'd just rest through the day and pray my Cover Girl base would be good enough to hide any bruises when I worked at Merlotte's. I didn't glance at the mirror at all, afraid I'd lose it if I saw (yet again) giant bruises all over my features, which had started to throb. The more sore my face felt, the more resolved I was not to even glance at my cell phone, lest I get dragged further into this mess. Eric and Pam would be able to figure things out on their own; they didn't need me wracking up more bruises on their behalf. Or losing more wages, since I still had work tonight--Sam had been unable to convince me to call off. (I figured I'd end up at a doctor's office soon, and I'd better have the money at hand.)

So that's why, even though my jaw felt thick and heavy, I lugged myself into Merlotte's at 8 for the early evening shift. It was a slower night, so I didn't see many people until I stopped in the back room to drop off my purse and keys.

"Jesus, Sook!" I didn't have to listen in to any thoughts to identify that voice. I turned slowly in his direction.

"You shouldn't take the Lord's name in vain, Sam Merlotte."

He gave me an exasperated look. "You should've called off. You look like you just got decked by somebody." He stepped closer, taking my chin gently with his rough fingers and probing the skin. "Looks just to be a bruise, but still--this is not good."

"Do you think I like it?" I grabbed my apron, fumbling with the ties. "It's not like I had a choice. If somebody was going to set fire to Merlotte's, you'd want me to say something, wouldn't you?"

He still frowned at me, so I grabbed my notepad and headed out to the bar, ready to get some work done.

Or so I thought. Five minutes into my shift, Sam beckoned me behind the bar, making a telephone gesture with his hands. When I looked pointedly at my tables, he just shook his head and pointed to the back again. Apparently, I had one of the world's few bosses who encouraged you to use his time up on the phone.

I could guess who it was, but I was actually surprised. "Sookie." Pam's cool voice greeted my ear. "I have called to thank you for your assistance. I must do something now to fulfill this debt."

"Oh! Pam, I'm so glad you're okay--"

She carried on in the same even tone. "My master has suggested that if I wish to thank you, I ought to knock before opening doors. I do not know what he means."

"Pam!"

"I am sure I do not," she drawled again, her voice about as innocent as a man on Murder Row. "But he seemed quite insistent on it. And I am rather glad I did not have to suffer burns in order to maul the peon who dared threaten my home. It took me quite some time to find that shade of paint for the siding, you know." She paused, before resuming in the same bored manner. "I will still rip his throat out and drink his blood, of course, but I will not suffer any damage to my skin."

"Yes, I don't think any night cream solves that," I offered.

"Pity, is it not?" She paused again, and I heard a knock, a grumbled, "I am here, Master," before a distant, "Enter!" could be heard. "You see what indignities I must suffer, for you," she told me, before speaking away from the mouthpiece. "Eric, I have Sookie on the phone. As you requested," she added, pointedly.

Before I could follow up on that point, the line had apparently changed hands. "Have you lost your cell phone?"

"Hello to you, too, Eric," I groused, feeling remotely guilty. I hadn't looked at my cell since my last text, explaining how I'd left Pam's. I'd been too tired and I just didn't want to deal with any of it. "I didn't look at it, no."

"I have sent you repeated messages." Great. Mr. High-and-Mighty was definitely present today. "I have instructed you to call me. You have not returned my messages."

"I was sleeping, okay?"

"You were also injured and you say nothing of this to me. I have heard this from others. How badly have you been injured?" His words were clipped, and his accent was starting to emerge. Uh-oh. If I were present at Fangtasia, I knew what Eric's face would look like just now; his fangs would be running at full point. Mr. High-and-Mighty was Mr. Really Pissed Off just now. Hell, I was almost tempted to look out the window, in case he was about to come up to the bar. I knew from experience Eric preferred to look you in the eye when he was angry. And other things.

"It's just some bruises, Eric, it's not a big deal. This is the least I've been hurt since hanging out with you." The joke fell flat, as Eric simply hissed on the other end of the line.

"We will speak more of this later. For now, you must know that I have your home being observed. If these incidents are connected, the attacker may wish to assault anyone connected with Fangtasia. I will not allow that to happen." I had the distinct feeling whoever challenged Eric on that point would end up like Siegbert had.

In fact, Eric's mood was so bleak that he let me off the line without even a suggestive remark; that's when I understood just how irate the Sheriff of Area 5 was. For a moment, I almost pitied the arsonist, but then I felt a twinge in my jaw. What can I say? I try to be a good Christian woman, but I always failed on the "turn the other cheek" count--probably because Gran always told me if you turned the other cheek too far, you were just asking to get robbed blind.

I just pushed thoughts of the arsonist aside and tried to get back to work and normal life. The night went by in a blur; the day after wasn't much more lively than that. In fact, I drifted through the next two days in a happy haze of nothingness, like right after a holiday, when all of the decorations are put away, the guests are gone, and you can just plain breathe. It was pretty quiet, a nice change--my biggest feat was an after-dinner run to Wal-mart, where I'd picked up a new plant for Arlene's new place. And then it all went to hell, of course. I was in the middle of the cereal aisle (avoiding Count Chocula), picking up my Cheerios, when my phone exploded into song:

_I BELIEVE IN MIRACLES, WHERE YOU FROM, YOU SEXY THING…_

Well. Normally, my ringtone is my favorite Shakira song, I'll have you know, and the volume is kept low, _not_ an ear-deafening blast that made the old lady further down the aisle turn to look at me suspiciously. Red-faced, I dug into the purse, grabbed the phone--right after the caller had hung up, of course--and hit the Reply button in a rage.

"Eric! I do not appreciate you messing with my phone, you conceited jackass," I hissed into the line, just as it was picked up.

"I'll be sure to pass on your thoughts," came the chilly feminine voice I knew so well. "He is unfortunately occupied at the moment."

I apologized insincerely--Eric wasn't big on programming things and I would bet anything he'd had Pam teach him how to amuse himself with my phone. (Or his. I shuddered, wondering what music he'd selected for my ring.) Still, that left the question of why anybody from Fangtasia had bothered to call me at all.

"Eric told me to call, so I am calling you. You are summoned. You will come at once."

"_Summoned_? Did he say summoned?" I dropped the Cheerios noisily into my cart.

"Oh, dear, is that a problem?" Pam was about as sincere as I was.

"Get him on the line, please." Viking undead or not, I wasn't taking this. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the glaring old lady starting to sidle away, clutching oatmeal to her chest. I guess she'd picked up on my mood.

I heard Pam's voice float off in the background. "Eric, I have Sookie on the line. She does not seem happy that you have ordered her here, for some reason."

He didn't even bother with a greeting. "You are to come to Fangtasia. I must speak with you."

"I am to come? Excuse me, are you _ordering_ me?" I envisioned myself throttling a certain blond vampire. I couldn't have pulled it off without a step-ladder and Eric's cooperation, but it was still a pleasing vision at that moment in time.

He made a noise of frustration. "Cease. I want you here. Come."

"Well, buster, we all want a lot of things--doesn't mean we can get them all."

"Buster?" He didn't sound quite as irate as when I called him "buddy" in front of Quinn, but just barely.

I decided to back off a little, before I got into a shouting match in the middle of Wal-Mart. Not that it would have been my first time--I remembered a few run-ins with Jason that had ended very badly--but I like to think I'm beyond that now. "Look, I'm not jumping into the car on my night off just because you snapped your fingers at the last minute." I wanted to mention that gas and mileage cost money, but I knew Eric would just offer to pay me--I didn't need to feel like the poor cousin yet again. In a dark mood, I pushed my cart around the corner; the oatmeal lady moved down by the Fantas, as if to make it clear she wasn't listening in on my conversation.

He growled, that sound doing predictably annoying and persistent things to my lower abdomen. "Woman, _enough_. Before I am tempted to come to you." His growl deepened. "Not that I'd mind at all punishing you." Well. My rage was suddenly a distant memory, and all kinds of interesting imagery had replaced it. Eric, damn him, was not as easily distracted. "I call about the arsonist. I believe you would be interested in some findings we have."

I found myself agreeing reluctantly, and heading back over to Shreveport. I was greeted in the employee parking lot by Pam, who watched with interest as I hopped out of the car with her loaned clothing in a Wal-Mart bag. "I know that store," she informed me. "I enjoy going there. The humans are so….interesting. Especially around three or four AM, or around your holidays. Eric and I observed a frenzy there last December. It was very…interesting." Her fangs slid out happily. I had a vision of sharks lounging and waiting for swimmers to rip themselves to pieces.

I shook my head and followed Pam to Eric's office. I saw a re-enactment of what I'd heard on the phone. "Eric! It is I, Pam!" She glared at me, and then the door. "Sookie is here!" She shot me a look. "Tell him to stop with this announcing nonsense."

"Enter," he barked back, just as I was shrugging helplessly at her; I don't think Eric was known to listen to anybody, let alone me.

We strolled in, to see the head of Area 5 glaring at a spreadsheet on his desk. "Pam, figure this out." He tossed her the offending documents. "Sookie, my naughty lover," he flashed me his old grin, and Pam paused on the way out to raise her eyebrows at me. I ignored her. "So good of you to come."

"Not by choice." My words were sour. "So spill. What's up?"

As it turned out, Shreveport's version of the Keystone Cops had missed something that the vamps had found--a button left on Pam's lawn. It was black, shiny, and had on it a logo: E(E)E.

"Quinn's company," I breathed, turning the button over in my hand. Extreme(ly Elegant) Events. I'd attended a few of their events by now, and knew the image well. Of course, I knew it up-close and personal from a few heated moments with their co-owner, Quinn. I wasn't really on great terms with him at the moment--I'd broken up with him, and then he caved to the invading Vegas vamps and led them to my place. But I still didn't think Quinn was the type to attack Fangtasia, and he was absolutely not the type to attack Pam. A memory lifted its head--yes, Quinn was capable of killing a vampire who assaulted me; he'd killed Andre on my behalf, after all. But even if Quinn _wanted_ to do something he felt would be in my benefit, I couldn't see burning Pam's house, and probably killing her in the process, would be part of it.

I looked up to see Eric watching me intently, over steepled finger-tips. His eyes were on my face as if my skin somehow held the answers. "Eric, Quinn didn't do this."

He inclined his head minimally. "Perhaps. But it merits consideration, does it not?"

"I guess." I looked at the little button in my hand, rolling it over with my finger-tip. "What were you thinking?"

"I was curious as to whether the tiger had some kind of file with his employees' identification cards. He might be persuaded to allow us a look at those photographs."

"I guess." I caught his lifted eyebrow. "Oh, no. Me?"

"He is not likely to open his door to my request, you would agree?"

I had to admit Eric had a point there. Quinn probably no more wanted to see me than I wanted to see him, but he'd be a hell of a lot more likely to help me out than Eric. "Oh, hell, hand me the phone."

It actually wasn't that hard to find Quinn. For once (the bitter part of me pointed out), he was in town. I fluttered my hand at Eric, who just smirked and refused to leave the room.

"Oh, hell, babe, I'm so glad you called. I've been meaning to call you. We need to clear the air. I really missed you, babe--"

I spun my chair away, trying to ignore the naked fascination with which Eric was following my conversation. "Look, Quinn, I've gotta--I can't talk about that now."

"But you're calling--?" He was openly confused, and how could I blame him? What's more likely when your ex-girlfriend calls you at night, a personal call or a "hey, I'm trying to find an arsonist" request? Yeah, I thought so, too.

"Um, I'm kinda in a jam, and I could use some help. Please."

He sighed on his end of the phone. I'd be lying to say a part of me didn't twinge at that sigh. He'd been a great guy, for the time we had together--sure, his mom and sister were, um, what I'd call "troubled," but that didn't mean we didn't have some great times together. Like a half-dressed encounter on my counter-top, which had given me more than a few great dreams. That was, I reminded myself strongly, before he chose to wimp out and lead the Vegas vamps right to me. I smacked myself upside the head, mentally--why did I always have to choose the guy who would let me down? First Bill, then Quinn. Alcide hadn't even been a boyfriend (yet) and he'd let me down, what with his asinine devotion to his old girlfriend, Debbie. And I didn't even want to think about the man who had helped me bury Debbie. I spun further away from Eric, rubbing my eyes. Damn smoke.

"Babe, you know I'd do anything for you. Tell me what you need."

I explained what we were looking for and Quinn agreed to show me his files. (I indicated I'd be coming with someone "from Fangtasia," so he could get the hint, but I couldn't bring myself to mention Eric to him. Quinn had always had suspicions, and I didn't want him getting his back up over that, denying us the access to his files.)

As I got off the line--shaking off Quinn's urging to think again about our relationship ("It was hot between us, babe, you know it was"), I hung up the phone, suddenly intensely aware of the silence in the room. A glance across the desk showed Eric without a smile, leaning back in his chair, his gorgeously cut arms folded over his chest.

"Why does he call you 'babe'? I do not care for that."

I snorted, rubbed my eyes again. "Is this some more macho bullshit? It's nothing, Eric. Don't we have more to deal with?"

"It is not appropriate. I do not like it." He frowned. "What does he mean by it? That you are a child?"

I laughed rustily, grabbing a Kleenex and dabbing at my runny eyes. "It's just an old way of addressing a girl, Eric. Haven't you heard a guy call a girl 'a babe,' before? Maybe he's just saying I'm pretty. It's a compliment. Some women like that." I threw the Kleenex at him to distract him--he grabbed it out of the air, but still frowned at me.

"Words." He waved his hand dismissively.

Now it was my turn to sulk. "Are you saying I don't deserve a compliment?"

That brought his big smile out. "Oh, do you want me to pay you a compliment, do you, dear one?"

"I didn't say that!" He just laughed quietly and smirked at me, those dancing sapphires making it clear what kind of "compliment" he had in mind. Flustered, I grabbed my purse. "Enough, can we just go?"

"By all means," he drawled, rising to his full height, eyes still on me.

I jerked on my coat, trying to ignore those eyes. "Your car or mine?"

"Mine," he snorted. "I'm not driving in that rattle-trap of yours."

"You know Quinn will know immediately you're there, if he sees the Corvette," I pointed out.

Eric reached around me for the door handle, still looking down at me. "Oh, I am very well aware of that." His teeth flashed. "Babe."


	23. Chapter 23

Eric reached around me for the door handle, still looking down at me. "Oh, I am very well aware of that." His teeth flashed. "Babe."

It only took about fifteen minutes (most of which had me clutching my seatbelt for dear life) in Eric's red Corvette for us to get to the little office building where E(E)E had a branch base. We'd gotten lucky; because of the nature of their business, E(E)E held hours long after the normal working day ended. Even though he hadn't been a vampire, yet again, one of my boyfriends was unable to have a normal day with me, I thought back wryly. Even our one date had been a disaster, I remembered, my muscles contracting at the idea of the attack we'd sustained. A part of me, not physical, hurt again at the memory of that date. I'd had such high hopes of that night, and of Quinn, and it had all gone south--horribly south, I recalled, thinking of Quinn practically begging me to stay with him and give him another shot. I had half a mind to jump back in the Corvette and high-tail it back to Fangtasia.

While I dragged my feet, Eric seemed to have no such reluctance. He popped to his feet outside of the Corvette, then started bounding to the door as if it were an enemy to be slain. I slunk irritably in his shadow, observing as he impatiently herded me into the office, and into Quinn's suite.

Whether by divine mercy or torture, Quinn wasn't in his office just then. His secretary--a red-haired man who gave me a curious look--assured us he'd be in a second and let us wait there, alone. I opted for silence, throwing myself into one of the chairs. Just because we had to do this, didn't mean I had to like it. Eric, who was rocking slightly on his toes, seemed to have no more mind to converse as we waited.

I was surprised by a pair of big hands that suddenly descended on my shoulders. Before I could jump, Eric's hands began to mold the muscles of my back, his thumbs rotating against me like a cat's kneading paws. His thumbs gave a sharp upstroke across my stressed neck, a slightly painful push followed by a spreading warmth of relaxation. I leaned back into his hands, which squeezed me slightly in appreciation, just as I started to open my mouth to speak.

Before I could say a word, however, Quinn walked in, freezing as he caught sight of us. I stiffened automatically, as the thought dawned that Eric would have heard Quinn's approach, even if I hadn't; Eric's hands leisurely rubbed me one more time, as if to stress their right to caress me, before coming to rest "casually" on my shoulders. "Good evening, Quinn," he said in a voice that was just a shade too bright; I somehow knew he had to be showing teeth as he smiled. I sighed. Apparently non-amnesiac Eric was just as possessive as the memory-deprived version.

I made myself look at Quinn, who was just staring at us with a shocked expression. He quickly righted himself; with a defiant look at the man behind me, he resumed his quick step to me, leaning down to buss me on the cheek. "Babe, you look gorgeous." He waved off my thanks, again eyeballing the force at my back. "Have a seat, Northman. Nice to see you, too, of course."

"Of course," Eric purred, lounging carelessly in a seat he pulled next to me. He smirked at my warning glare. "I had to come when Sookie asked." I opened my mouth to protest, but then shut it again; when Eric intended to provoke, he would do just that, whether I wanted him to or not.

Quinn raised a skeptical brow at Eric and then redirected his attention to me. "You said you had one of our buttons?" I fumbled in my purse and produced it for his scrutiny. "Hmmm…Yeah, babe, this does look like ours."

"Can you tell what it came from?" When the men looked at me as if I'd suddenly become mentally stunted, I rolled my eyes. "You know, coat, shirt, sweater, pants?"

"I think it's from a shirt," Quinn murmured, frowning at the button on his desktop. "Possibly our winter one, for the guys. I'll get a model out in a sec."

"Isn't it for your women?" Eric's voice, infinitely cooler than when he'd addressed me, penetrated the group focus on the button. "It is, after all, so…small."

Quinn raised his head sharply. "Some of us don't believe in ostentation, Northman."

"I meant no disrespect. I beg your pardon," my Viking pain in the ass said insincerely. "I simply do not find it likely that I could manipulate such a button easily on my clothing. But I am, of course, a bit more than your average….employee." He flexed his large hands in front of himself pointedly, then sat back, fangs and eyes both flashing.

"Some of us have _no problem_ with any buttons, Northman," growled Quinn. I swear I saw the air around him shimmer faintly, as if we were about to see a tiger in front of us. "In fact, some of us manipulate _buttons_ damn fine."

Eric crossed his leg, clasping a hand on his ankle as it rested on his other knee. "Oh, I've had no complaints when I have to work others' _buttons_." He grinned: now full teeth. I groaned. "And I am used to not having to remove my own attire, of course."

He turned to look at me, and before he could say anything else--because I just knew I was gonna be dragged into this dog fight--I snapped, "If y'all are going to be having a pissing contest on me, can you give me a second to get a raincoat before you start marking your territory?" Gran would've washed out my mouth with soap, but then again, Gran didn't have to deal with these two.

They weren't properly scolded, unfortunately. Quinn looked taken aback, and then mildly offended. Eric just blew a kiss at me.

"Could we get on with this? Quinn, could you check out the button, and could we look at photos of any guys on your staff, to see if I could ID the guy at Pam's?"

With another reluctant sigh, Quinn slid out of the room to get the folder for us, and to dig up the shirt sample. As I tried not to let my eyes follow him (his backside might not be up to Eric's level, but it was still not hard on the eyes), I felt a cool hand slide down my forearm. I whipped around furiously.

"You!"

"Me!" He was nearly nose-to-nose with me, failing abysmally at acting innocent. "What is it, lover?"

"You behave yourself," I growled. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but you can just stop it."

"Nothing's gotten into me. Or should I say," he leaned over and murmured into my ear, "I've gotten into no--"

"I said, stop that." I slapped him on the arm--hurting me worse than it would hurt him, I knew. It was still emotionally satisfying. "I'm not getting dragged into some male stupidity."

"Of course, _babe_."

"Don't you call me that," I hissed.

"But you don't mind when the tiger says that. Or do you?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not having this conversation." I turned to face forward again, trying without success to ignore the six feet plus of trouble in the room. "My business is not yours."

I didn't expect him to respond, so I was startled when I heard him shoot back at me, cold and sharp, "It's been mine since the day you walked into my bar."

I was so completely dumbfounded that I dropped my prior resolution to ignore him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He waved a dismissive hand. "Later. The flea-bag is coming."

Before I could object to the insult, the door did indeed open, with a pensive Quinn entering. He took his chair soberly.

"First, I think we've got the kind of shirt here--I was right, it's the winter men's shirt. See, I brought this sample." I took the dark fabric that landed in my lap and nodded; sure enough, the button did see to match. "I still need to look at some of our older shirts, because I don't know if this is the first time these buttons have been used on our clothing." I nodded again, to indicate my gratitude. Trust Quinn to follow up with a bizarre request, even if he couldn't follow up on the request to actually be there on a regular basis for his girlfriend. "And I brought you this folder of our identification records. It's against security policy, but in memory of all of our times together, babe--" -- he gave me a heated look, and I looked down hard at my lap--"--well, you know. So, have at it." He gave me an enticing smile and pushed the folder to me.

I didn't actually get to it first--a white hand shot out in front of me and grabbed it. "You have our gratitude." He started rifling rapidly through the documents, plucking out some and then handing a small pile to me. "Here are the men, Sookie. Do any look familiar?"

I studied them. The funny thing about people is, we all think we look so different, but in reality, we all are just one boring blur. I knew from experience how mundane and habitual our thoughts are--well, our faces are pretty much the same thing.

"I'm not sure--he was just some regular guy, like you might see at Wal-Mart, y'know what I mean? Not skinny, not fat, dark hair, just average." I kept scrutinizing the photos, hoping one of them would give me an "I'm it!" wink. It didn't happen. "Oh, hell, I'm sorry, guys, I'm just not sure. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. We'll find this guy." Quinn's eyes were fixed and hungry; this was the look his opponents in the pits once saw, I bet. I shivered slightly and rose to my feet. Quinn jumped up, too.

"Thanks for your time, Quinn, I guess we ought to be--"

"Wait." Quinn's hands seized mine, caressing them slowly. His eyes suddenly burned into mine. This was not Quinn the beggar, but Quinn the taker. I shivered. "I'm not missing this opportunity. Babe, I need yo--I need to talk to you. Alone. Eric, would you mind giving us a moment?"

"I would." Now Eric was on his feet, his face like stone. "I would mind."

"What the hell is your problem?"

"You." Eric stepped up behind me, eyes blazing. I cringed as I saw his fangs slip out. Yup, he was spoiling for a fight.

Quinn did a double-take and now he looked at me. "Babe, are you _his_?"

"Sookie is no one's. She is her own woman. I am _shocked _you forgot that about her," Eric shot back sanctimoniously over my head, almost as if he actually meant a word he said. "Of course, you've been too busy hawking your goods to pay any attention to this woman at all." His attention remained locked on Quinn while I hissed, "_Eric!" _furiously at him.

If looks could kill--well, thanks to Quinn, Eric would have found out what it was like to die twice. "I think you need to shut the fuck up, Northman." He didn't bother to add on the school yard, "Or I'll make you," probably because he couldn't, I realized. I had a feeling Eric's 1,000 years of vampire power would've made him a very dangerous opponent for Quinn, survivor of pit warfare or not. Quinn's eyes slid to me. "Tell me you want me, babe, and I'll deal with _this_."

Before I could speak, Eric's arm slid across my abdomen. "Deal with _this_. You will not refer to her as 'babe.' It is disrespectful to my lover."

"_Eric!" _I hissed.

"My future lover," he added unrepentantly. "This woman was mine and shall be mine, tiger. So set your eyes elsewhere."

"That is enough!" I wanted to yell, but we were in a place of business, after all. Instead, I clenched my teeth and grabbed my purse. "I am not going to sit here and listen to this. Eric, we're going. Quinn, I thank you kindly for being here for me, especially on such short notice. I'll be in touch if I have any further questions." And with that said, I seized the wrist of my undead annoyance, who allowed me to haul him back to the parking area, past the bemused secretary, to whom Eric said knowingly, "Women." I didn't have to turn my head to know what Eric's expression was--he positively radiated glee.

We were out by the Corvette by the time I dropped Eric's wrist and stomped over to my side of the Corvette. I had half a mind to tear the door off, but unlike certain damned Vikings, I didn't have the physical power to do so. Instead, I dropped into my seat, snapped my seatbelt on (even angry, I wasn't risking myself to Eric's driving), and laid into him.

"What _the hell_ was that? Can't I take you anywhere without a scene?"

He had slid gracefully into his bucket seat; the Corvette purred as he turned it on. "I did him a favor, lover."

"_Lover? _You're the one who objected to him calling me 'babe'! And by the way, not that you're getting any any time soon. Not after that performance!"

He paused the car to rest his forehead momentarily against the steering wheel, literally shaking with laugher. "Oh, Sookie. How you do amuse me." He lifted his head and grinned merrily at me. I wanted to find a cliff, just so I could push him and his angelic smile right off of it. "You are my lover, whether you choose to admit it or not. It has been true; it will be true; it is true." He winked at me and ran his tongue out to dampen his lips. I looked away angrily and he chuckled again. "But the tiger calling you 'babe' is just lazy and disrespectful. As were most of his interactions with you."

"I don't know what your problem is. You don't have to be nasty to Quinn. He's had a real hard life, you know." I stared out at the businesses of Shreveport passing by the window, trying not to think about the mother and sister for whom Quinn had given up so much.

Eric's voice, cold and crisp, cut into my gloomy reverie. "So have you. And you do not inflict guilt on others because of your troubles." Surprised, I turned my head toward him; he was looking forward now, a serious set to his jaw. "You do not make your partner sit for weeks on end without so much as a call."

"He had his reasons," I muttered.

"His _reasons _treated you like shit."

"We're not talking about this. I didn't appoint you my guardian," I grumbled.

"Oh, I have other plans than guarding you." He flashed me his full-power smoldering look. Even angry as I was with him, I had to concede it was impressive. "Now, can we pretend that I have engine trouble so that we can pull over and make out?"

I had to laugh, despite my anger. "You wish!"

"Oh, yes, I do." There went the smile again. There went my rebellious hormones again. "I quite enjoy my memories of our time together. It was…delightful." He did that tongue thing again, and I really should've found it repulsive, but instead, a part of me cried inside to throw myself over the gearbox at him.

"Didn't you hear anything I said before? No!"

"Soon, then." We sat at a light and he turned to chuck my chin lightly. I jerked away from him as he beamed down on me. "If you'd like, I could take you to my home now. My bed awaits you--and my shower, too," he added, with a throaty purr. "Of course, if you wish to ravish me now, feel free."

"Oh, please." I gave him my shoulder, looking out my window as Shreveport's streets began to pass us by again. Something weird slithered into my consciousness, and I held up a hand. It was like a radio station from very far off just coming into tune:

_SPEED UP, GET THE HIT, LET'S GO, BITCH_

"Eric, I just heard--"

Thoughts apparently travel just a teeny bit faster than bullets, I found out. _Crack_, went the rear window. "DOWN!" I heard Eric roar. His big hand shoved me into the footwell of the Corvette as his foot simultaneously hit the accelerator.

I'd like to say I said something pithy (a former Word of the Day), but instead I just gave a sharp, startled holler. "What the HELL?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Eric responded, his eyes snapping between the front window and the mirror. "They're following."

I tried hard to listen. "One human. I think there's somebody with him, though, a Supe--at least one, maybe two." I rubbed my forehead desperately. "There may be more, or another car's nearby, waiting for us."

Eric's fangs were fully extended, but he was starting to smile. It wasn't his happy smile, either. I shivered. "Open the glove compartment and get what's inside for me." This wasn't the easiest of jobs, given that Eric was starting to zig and zag through night-time traffic; I had my doubts he was obeying the traffic lights, too. I pried open the glove compartment and groped inside--nope, not a manual, or a flashlight, or even a spare True Blood. Eric apparently carried weaponry.

"A _gun_?" I asked brilliantly, hearing more shots ring out behind us. "You carry a _gun_?" Given we were about to be killed by one (or at least I was, anyway), you'd think I'd be a bit more accepting, but what can I say? The only guns Stackhouses had were shotguns. Which I could fire very well, I thought, wincing.

"Sword's in the trunk," he retorted, distracted. I hoped, really hoped, that was a joke. "Hand it over." Again without looking at me, he extended a palm my way. I passed him the gun gingerly and he snapped something on it--a safety? I don't know. He was now grinning openly. "I've always wanted to try this. Keep your head down, Sookie."

It's a good thing I know Eric well, because I knew if he bothers to give you warning, it's time to hang on for dear life. Which is what I did, as he abruptly slammed on the brakes, turned the wheel sharply, and positioned the gun across his driving forearm as if he were some action hero. I heard a spray of gunshots and horns through this maneuver, as well as a few "Jesus Christ!"s. I'm not sure a few didn't come from me, honestly.

"Silly fools, they think we rely on fangs alone," Eric commented airily, gunning the accelerator again. I refused to look up, trying to hold my spinning stomach steady. It'd be just my luck if I ended up being sick all over myself and _then_ getting killed. In the middle of some vampire danger, of course, which would lead Sam to lecture me across the grave, no doubt.

"Who the hell are they?" I yelled from my nook, trying to squeeze a few prayers in: _Dear Lord, please ignore that 'Jesus Christ' before, really, I'm kinda scared…_

He shrugged. "If I knew that, they'd be dead already. Can you push that button on the dash?"

I started to ask him where, but then he leaned over and pushed something in the center of the car's display, right over the stereo. It looked for all of the world like one of those safety features you see on the fancy cars, or in the ads on the radio where the lady's been in an accident and needs help. Jason called them " Jesus-take-the-wheel buttons," from that Carrie Underwood song we both liked (I did, anyway--Jason probably liked Carrie herself better than the song). I watched Eric's motions in a surreal state: Who on earth could help us if some crazy nuts had intended on killing us? I had my doubts that Jesus was going to take the wheel of Eric's Corvette--not without a fight with an undead Viking, anyway.

"I knew this would come in handy." That voice speaking from the dash definitely wasn't Jesus'. Unless the Lord really liked pastels.

"Don't gloat," snapped my companion, but it didn't seem he was angry with her. "How soon?"

"A few."

"Well met, then."

"Well met, my master." The sound seemed to click off, as if Pam had hung up, or we'd hung up on her.

"Stay down," Eric said, making the Corvette dance across lanes. I closed my eyes to resist the motion sickness. It was like the turbulence from hell. I couldn't even listen in on our attackers--oh, they were still out there, and there were thoughts in the air, but I was too focused on staying alive to piece together what was going through the heads trying to kill us.

_Or kill me_, I thought in a daze. Eric couldn't be killed by a bullet--seriously wounded, yes, but he'd live--so it stood to reason, if someone was shooting with the intent to kill, the goal wasn't Eric…

As I worked through that puzzle, I heard a distant flapping sound approaching us. My lunatic driver made a pleased grunt, but said nothing. I sneaked a peek around the car, although all I could see were the tops of buildings flying past, from my perspective in the car well. And something else--black shapes descending--

"Vampires!"

Eric made no response as he slammed on the brakes again, whipping the car into a sliding stop. This time the car found itself surrounded by a loose circle of black-draped figures--most of the vamps of Fangtasia, I realized. They looked like figures out of _The Matrix,_ but I knew they hadn't gotten dressed up to go join in the fighting; like Pam, who was wearing her leather dominatrix get-up, they were just wearing their normal club clothing, which just happened to look terrific as a night-time supernatural army gear. And around them, the night streets were empty. Our attackers seem to have vanished.

"Cowards!" Eric roared, before laughing triumphantly. "To the victor, the spoils!" At that, he leaned over, grabbed me before I could resist, and planted one on me that made the ends of my hair curl. Oh, my. Almost getting killed (again) apparently really did it for Eric. And for me, as I threw myself right back at him.

"Ahem. It is I, Pam." The voice registering in my (currently whole, lacking bullet holes) head, I turned to catch Pam at the passenger's side door. "May I please open this door, or would you be so kind as to step out of your…._office_?" She spat the last words out like a curse, which I figured it was--this was some kind of geas she clearly didn't want to obey.

Eric was completely nonplussed, of course. "We're coming out. What do you think?"

"Don't tell me I put down my Dear Abby for this." Pam tossed her hair and surveyed the perimeter. "I do think your little problem has run away, master."

Eric popped over the side of the Corvette like one of the Dukes of Hazzard. "We'll see."

"Can I kill them first?" She asked idly.

"Not if I get to them before you do," he shot back grimly. "My car has a _scratch_ on it." This was more like a bullet groove, I thought, staggering out of the car with the aid of a few of the Fangtasia vamps.

"I told you when you bought it, red shows the most damage." Pam was off and lecturing Eric, but he shook his head at her and tilted his blond mane in my direction. "Now, Pam."

That was all she needed--before I could argue, she'd stepped forward and drew me into her iron-clad embrace. "You do have your purse? Not wearing a skirt, are you? Then we're off to bed. Goodnight, Eric." And to my astonishment--more so than being pressed to the body of another woman--I was lifted into the air.

"You're flying home." Pam's teeth flashed right before my eyes, much like my life. "Enjoy."


	24. Chapter 24

"You're flying home." Pam's teeth flashed right before my eyes, much like my life. "Enjoy."

I kept my eyes glued shut the entire way home. I'm not a coward, but the last time I'd flown with Pam, she'd dropped like a brick. Of course, she was also dead as one, too, but that's another story. I guess you could say I didn't have the greatest of confidence in vamp flying skills.

Pam just snickered. "Would you be opening your eyes if I were Eric? I know you'd be more comfortable pressed up against him."

"Well, I wouldn't have to worry about smashing my boobs, if that's what you're talking back," I shot back tartly.

She laughed. "Touché, Sookie. So tell me how you were almost killed, again?"

I listened to the wind whip through our hair and wondered briefly what Pam's mph was. Did vamps have to obey speed limits, I wondered idly. I felt the wind whip against my jeans-clad legs. No wonder Pam had wanted to make sure I wasn't wearing a skirt. "I don't know. I just suddenly heard somebody thinking something nasty and then there were bullets."

"Isn't that always the way," Pam sighed.

I let the conversation drop, as I wasn't feeling quite up to chit-chat. Seeing one's life float before one's eyes tends to dim the tendency to witty repartee, I've noticed. Pam, either through the teachings of Dear Abby or just a general cluelessness about conversational expectations, let me be quiet, for which I was grateful. We passed the rest of the flight silently, before Pam touched us down right at my back door.

I guess I was rude, because I just expected that to be it--I'd give Pam my thanks, offer her a True Blood, she'd laugh it off, and that'd be that. Just goes to show my grandma was right when she said not to assume--I turned after unlocking my door and almost shrieked, as Pam was right there at my shoulder, clearly anticipating entry.

"Er, want to come in?" I managed.

"Of course. I'm to guard you." She waltzed in behind me and for a moment I was taken aback, but then I remembered, of all the vampires I'd kicked out of the house, Pam hadn't been one of them. Pam +1, boy vamps -1, I guess. She had a reason to be cocky.

"Guarding me? When did this decision happen?"

"When Eric asked me to do so. You were there. It was obvious. You had to go home, for your own safety, and we'll see if someone pursues Eric tonight. If they do, he'll kill them," she added, with all of the excitement of a weatherman at the North Pole. "And if not, we'll see. And of course, if they follow you," and here's Pam's teeth flashed in my kitchen, gleefully, "I will devour them and make them regret the first day of their unholy existence."

"Um, thanks. I guess."

"It will be my pleasure." And I hadn't the slightest doubt it would be.

I didn't know quite what to do with Pam--I showed her the hidey-hole, but she told me she'd probably leave before dawn, when "reinforcements" came. I groaned inside and chose to ignore that comment. I couldn't argue with Pam, and Eric was too far away to scream at. I offered her a nightgown, and she laughed hysterically at my old t-shirt and shorts combo. ("Why do you wish to look like a beggar when you sleep? And a male beggar, at that?") I finally got her settled down in my living room, where she could surf the TV channels at will. That gave me a moment to clear out the entry to the hidey-hole (just in case she decided to use it), get my clothing sorted out for the morning, make sure some laundry went into the washing machine, tidy up the kitchen from the evening's dishes, and get the morning coffee ready. Living with Supes in your life, you learn it is best to think ahead about these things.

In the living room, I heard Pam laughing uproariously and had to wander out. "What's so funny?"

She held a familiar black book; from the movement of her fingers on the sides, it was clear she was speed-reading it. Tara had purchased it for me as a gag gift, continuing the trend from her _Buffy _videos, I guessed. It did a lot more for Pam for humor than it did for me, apparently. Pam was laughing to the point blood-red tears tracked down her cheeks. "We _sparkle_?"

"Look, it's just a silly teenager's book, don't get all worked up about it." I tried to snatch the copy back, but she easily evaded me.

"This Edward Cullen has potential. But he's hard as _marble_? As in, rock? Is he afraid of having sex with her because he's got a dick like marble?"

"Pam! Language!"

She waved me off with another snort. "This quite explains your issues with my master. You do know his dick isn't that hard, don't you? Granted, it can be _quite_ hard--"

"PAM! You are in my gran's house! You stop that right now or I'm rescinding your invitation." I wanted to add "young lady," but somehow, it just wouldn't come out.

"As you wish." She made a rude noise and dove back into the book. I groaned and marched upstairs to the bathroom. At least she had something to entertain her while I took a shower, so I wouldn't feel so guilty about leaving a guest alone.

For all that courtesy, though, I still locked the bathroom door. I'd had at least one vampire visitor into this bathroom and I wasn't up for any more. I tried to push back the part of my memory--or body--that strongly objected to that line of thought, settling instead for ferociously scrubbing my skin and my hair. You really wouldn't think you'd get very dirty being whipped around in a speeding car, and you'd be right, but I still felt grimy. I guess I was so used to having near-death experiences that I just automatically associated them with being dirty/blood-covered/vampire-covered.

The room got steamy real fast, thanks to the hot shower, and I had to fumble a bit to get my towel off the rack and around me, tugging it together at the top as I strolled into my room.

"I obviously came just a little too late." I shrieked as I beheld six-feet-four of smirking Viking stretched out on his back on my bed.

"Lord, Eric! What the hell are you doing here?"

I got control of my kick-started heart. He was clothed (thank goodness), although he'd toed off his boots, I noticed. His arms were folded behind his head, and he was giving me a very warm smile.

"I brought that car of yours around." His tone indicated he was reluctant to consider my crappy twenty-year-old vehicle truly a car, but who was he to judge? He was one thousand years older than my vehicle. (Which was, generally speaking, a heap less of trouble than Eric.) "I thought you'd be wanting it."

"Oh. Thanks, that was kind of you. But weren't you staying away tonight, what with the shooters?" I was suddenly aware, very aware of how his eyes were following the beads of water tracking down my skin. My bare feet shifted nervously and I shivered slightly beneath the towel.

He shrugged. "If they can't find me, they'd just come here. And it would suit me to kill them sooner rather than later. But other things suit me now." He raised an eyebrow and crooked a finger at me. "Come to me, Sookie."

"Oh, no, oh, no, buddy." I threw open my dresser and grabbed the first night clothes at hand--the hideous pajamas Jason had given me as a birthday present once. They were at least two sizes too big, and sported giant pink poke-a-dots on purple fabric. I always thought they looked like a diseased Barney costume, privately. And right now, the diseased Barney look was going to be my saving grace.

"You can change here. Don't let me disturb you." Eric said this, of course, as if he happened to own the house, rather than being an intruder in my bedroom. I should've told him to take a hike, but I knew that would lead to a long argument I couldn't afford just then, being semi-dressed. So I fled back into the bathroom to pull on the ugly pajamas. Now time to reclaim my bed.

"You've dropped the car off and I thank you. I'm real tired, so if you'd just close the door on the way out, I'd be appreciative," I said as loftily as I could as I entered the room.

"Mmmm." That's when my jaw dropped. First, he'd actually moved over to one side of the bed--"his" side, I gathered, as he was patting the empty side meaningfully. Second, he'd removed his clothes, except for some green boxer shorts he was wearing. They had candy canes all over them, I realized, after staring for a good long minute. And lastly, he'd retrieved the Victoria's Secret catalogue I'd received in the mail the other day. Normally, I just toss them in the trash straightaway, or Jason takes them to do Lord-knows-what, but Eric apparently beat us both to it.

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Shopping," he answered, his blue eyes peeking at me over the edge of the catalogue. "If I buy you all of these things, will you wear them for me?"

"Yeah, right!" He watched with interest as I jerked back the comforter and crawled into bed. I shoved his big shoulder lightly--I knew enough not to strain myself really trying. "You can scoot now."

"I'd wear anything you liked, you know. Or not." He tugged at the waistband of his boxer shorts, as if to shimmy them down his hips--I saw a bit of darker golden hair and closed my eyes, causing him to bellow a laugh.

"Damn it, Eric, stop!" I tried to ignore the way his broad shoulders shone. He really did have the most beautifully smooth skin there. A part of me was tempted to ask what lotion he used; another part of me was tempted to offer to apply it. "I'm not doing anything for you. You may have noticed it always gets me nearly killed," I added waspishly.

If he was offended, he didn't show it. He picked up the magazine on his lap and flipped through the pages. Dog-eared, I noted. His finger tapped a model wearing a skimpy Santa suit. "Not even this? I don't know enough about human Christmas, you know," he added very seriously. "This would help me to appreciate the mortals on my staff and their needs."

"You just want to appreciate _my_ needs." Oops.

He tossed down the magazine and had rolled half on top of me before I could do more than squeak out a protest. "I always appreciate your needs. Are you in need now? Is this the part where I make you scream my name all night long?" His hand--how did he get under the blanket so fast?--slid under the godawful nightgown to cup my calf and tickle behind my knee.

"If you're talking nightmares, maybe," I retorted, with an instinctive wiggle. My attempt, of course, was to get out from under him. His wiggle in return was not from the same instincts, I realized; his boxers really hid nothing at all from me. My discussion with Pam suddenly came to mind and I felt my face flushing.

"Someone's shy." He brushed his fingers over my burning features. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," I tried to insist. He gave me a doubtful look, his legs still pinning me down like iron, so I caved. "Just a joke Pam made, that's all. Now will you please let me up?"

"Do you really want me to?" He bent his head to my neck, where he gave an experimental small lick. My fingers flexed into the muscles of his back in automatic reaction and he purred. "I don't think you do."

"Pam's here…" I murmured

"I sent her away," he said into my ear, as my skin quivered from the brush of his cheek. "It's just us."

"But the shooters--"

"There are guards." As he felt me go rigid, he nipped at my jawline. "At the perimeters. We're alone, lover."

"Until someone tries to kill us again." I tried to grumble, and it would've been easy, given the topic, but for the fact Eric's eyes were glowing at me. "I am really tired, Eric."

He studied me, no doubt taking in the idea of fatigue. Vampires didn't sleep till day, and that could be barely called sleep. "Very well." He kissed me lightly on the forehead and rolled back onto his back, drawing me to him. I heard a click as he found the lamp switch, and then all was black.

We lay there in the dark, and I realized how easy this was, my hand face against Eric's cool chest, my hand idly tracing the muscle patterns on his abdomen. I could smell his cologne still on his skin, mixed in with the natural scent of his body. I wished I knew what to call him. Was he my boyfriend? We'd never dated, but here he was, snuggled up with me and definitely acting like he had every intention of being with me. Was he my lover, as he was always calling me his? We'd not slept together since the time he lost his memory, but that clearly was on his agenda as well. And, of course, I thought grimly, we had almost died together many a time. I spun my finger lightly in his navel, pondering. We laughed a lot--was that it, the humor and the desire for sex? Was he my "fuck buddy," as Jason described the girls on whom he always could count for a quick laugh and a good time? I raised myself up on my arm, my free palm still on his chest, so that I could look down at him in the dark. In the night, his brilliant blue gaze seemed almost black, like an ocean by night, and just as stormy. His mouth was quietly curved up; I moved my fingers to explore there, the little crescent by the side of his mouth when he smiled at me. I felt something roil within me and looked up, fearful, at those eyes again. He was still and he was looking at me, allowing me to do what I wanted. I bent my head, noticing how our hair mixed in the pillow, and his eyes drew me in, reeling me down to him; my heart stopped like his as my lips slipped against his, my mouth leading his gently, tenderly, scarcely daring to breathe. I didn't know if I was the one going so slow--so as not to run--or he was the one taking us slowly--so that I would not bolt. All I knew is that my chest felt liable to shatter, and all from nothing but a kiss.

He said nothing, just stroking my hair slowly, as I pulled back softly, even though I could tell his body was definitely not in the mood for what I called "downtime." I slid my hand down across his waistband, until a big hand clamped down on mine.

"I thought you were tired?" For once, there was nothing arch in his voice.

I dashed something wet from my cheek. "I want--I want to lo--I want to touch you," I fumbled. Hell, I didn't even know what I was doing. I ran my fingers beneath the edge of the boxers, lightly scratching the skin there. "You're always so--you always please me," I muttered. "Last time, you didn't--I mean, you made me--" I groped for words. There's no handbook, _How to Talk About Sex with Somebody Who May or May Not Be Your Undead Boyfriend_--not that I'd ever seen at our local Walden's, anyway.

His voice was slightly huskier, and still softer, than the normal. "I'll wait." Then, with his usual flashing spirit, he added, "You'd better be worth it." I couldn't help but laugh and slap him on his belly.

"What if _you're _the disappointment? I never said you were the best _I _ever had, after all." What had gotten into me?

I had baited the lion but he just laughed, rather than eating me alive. (Damn.) He tugged me down into the curve of his arm again. "Oh, we'll see about that, lover. Now sleep. Dream of me." Just in case I thought he was invoking some kind of Disney dream for me, he lowered his tone. "And however many times I give you an orgasm then, I'll double it in our next time."


	25. Chapter 25

I had baited the lion but he just laughed, rather than eating me alive. (Damn.) He tugged me down into the curve of his arm again. "Oh, we'll see about that, lover. Now sleep. Dream of me." Just in case I thought he was invoking some kind of Disney dream for me, he lowered his tone. "And however many times I give you an orgasm then, I'll double it in our next time."

For a woman who had been shot at and flirted with within an inch of her life the night before, I slept fairly soundly--I only woke up once, discovering Eric's face between my breasts, as he'd apparently decided my chest was much better than his pillow. After shoving him back to his side (and getting dragged into his grasp again), I fell back asleep, my eyes only opening when sunshine was flooding the room.

That meant Eric was gone, of course. There was almost no sign of him in the room, although he'd left the Victoria's Secret catalogue--opened to that silly Santa suit, of course--opened pointedly on his pillow. I rolled my eyes and tossed it stashed it under the pillow, just in case Jason popped by.

It was a work day, so I had to hustle and get myself ready to be on my feet at Merlotte's. I was in a damned good mood, too--probably the good night's sleep, I told myself.

"Morning, Sam!" I threw myself brightly behind the bar, pulling ketchup bottles for the lunch rush.

His face twisted, before he sighed and reluctantly returned the smile. "Mornin', Sook." He glanced not-too-obviously at my bare neck. "You have a good day yesterday?"

Oh, I did errands, went to Walmart, almost got killed, I wanted to say. Instead, because it was Sam, I just got to the point. He probably knew all about it by now, anyway. Supes gossip more than the celebrity tabloids, I've found. "Oh, had a bit of a run-in with my _friend_ from before." It took him a second to follow my meaning, then his eyebrows drew together thunderously. Before he could drag me off to the backroom, I gave a tiny shake to my head. No clue who was watching, after all. "Nothing new just yet. I'll keep you updated."

"You do that," he said gravely, as I ran off to get the salt-shakers out. People do like their salt on things.

We were pretty crowded for lunch, since the big diner around the corner was undergoing renovations (a fancy way of saying pest control, Sam told me) and their traffic had come our way. I was hustling like there was no tomorrow; I even commandeered Terry from the back to help serve a few of the tables as the food came out. The only shame was that it was lunch, and the tips wouldn't be as good as night, when the beer's flowing--but then again, a tip's a tip, I told myself. Even when it's old Mrs. Laudner, who just leaves you a bag of old Halloween candy and a few coupons in lieu of a cash tip.

I was moving so quickly I didn't have to worry much about blocking thoughts--they were flying at me from all sides, and if I'd let myself listen a second, I'd be bombarded. So I came up to a table of newcomers, pen in hand, and found myself briefly flabbergasted.

One of them was the guy who had set Pam's fire! It was him, I was as sure of it as day follows night. I scratched desperately at my notepad in an effort to redirect my eyes from his face--no need to set him off with suspicion. Finally, I caved. "Well, now, boys, seems my pen isn't working so well. Just give me a moment, won't you?" I wanted to walk backwards to the bar, or scream, but who knew what was going on with this guy? So I kept my walk deliberately nonchalant as I went to the bar, the phone, and Sam.

He could tell from my face that was something was wrong, bless his heart. He came to the bar's swinging door, to meet me, and immediately leaned down so that I could whisper to him. "I think I need the po--_shit!" _ My eyes froze on table three, now empty. I glanced around quickly--of course, not in the bar. Well, that left one option--"Cover for me!" I hissed to Sam, darting through the bar to the front door.

Merlotte's parking lot was pretty much full, thanks to the rush. I craned my neck around for signs of movement, a car sliding out--and I was rewarded with the hum of an engine ahead. I dashed forward, just in time to see a blue Toyota sliding out of the entry, into the main road.

I slunk back in dejectedly, meeting Sam at the door. "Sorry, I don't chase cars," he told me, after I gave him a dour look.

"Very funny."

Sam shrugged and studied the parking lot thoughtfully. "What do you think this means?"

"Well…No clue."

Sam shook his head. "You're giving up too easily, Sook. There's got to be something in this."

"Well, the person who attacked Pam has connections to Bon Temps."

Sam nodded.

"He isn't following me, or he'd know I worked here, and he wouldn't be coming to lunch."

"Sounds right."

"His buddies left, too…There might be more of them?"

"Maybe. Could you explain to your friends that you just _had _to run without lunch, and get them to run off with you, in that short of time?"

I could see where he was going. "Well, hell. Now I've got a whole group of arsonists after me, is that what you're saying?"

Sam shrugged. "Or he's got buddies. What do you think?"

I groaned. "I'd better call Fangtasia."

I waited until it was decently after dusk before I called Eric; I always thought of the vampires' first minutes awake as much as the same as when people first woke up, drowsy, hungry, needing the bathroom and a good splash of water on the face. In Eric's case, he probably flexed his muscles in the mirror a few times before doing any of the other activities, but still, it meant he needed a few minutes before it would be polite to call.

I grudgingly punched in the numbers. This time, I chose not to call Fangtasia--I didn't want anybody snooping on this call.

"Why, is it Santa's little helper?" I heard his merry voice in my ear.

"You wouldn't get the call if it were. You're on the Naughty list," I snapped.

"Definitely." He sounded proud. Sounded? He was, of course. "Do you want to hear what I want in my stocking?"

"I can imagine, thanks. Look, I've got something of importance for you." He protested a bit at how I blew him off, but the line grew ominously silent as I filled him in on what I'd seen at Merlotte's.

"Very interesting indeed, Sookie," he said finally. "I have another opportunity to identify this…creature."

"Oh?"

"I have before me information on the next event hosted by the E(E)E. It's at the Bastet, Friday night." This was the top-security vampire hotel in Shreveport, where the king stayed when in town. "It's an annual event by the community." Somehow, I knew he wasn't talking about the geographic area, but the fanged community. In case I felt excluded, I guess, he added, just a tad too brightly, "For charity. The proceeds go to a local bloodbank."

I tried not to imagine this too much. "Um, that's nice, I guess."

"Then we will attend and we will see if Pam's visitor is there."

"We?" I made a face at the phone.

"Yes, _we_. You're the only one who can identify this man, and your gift may come in handy. And I go every year, of course."

"Because you're so charitable," I muttered rebelliously. "What am I supposed to wear, anyway? What's the dress code like?" Vampire events tend to be dressy affairs, not quite my usual wardrobe. They also tended to be one-time-wear events, as well; what formal dresses I had, or had borrowed, had ended up ruined in conjunction with vampires. And not in the way Eric would have liked them ruined, either; I remembered how the spray from the false Vlad the Impaler ruined my pink dress that I wore to Eric's Dracula Night party.

"Oh, you needn't worry about that," he interjected. "I will get your dress. It is the least I can do, for your assistance."

He sounded far, far too innocent for my ease. "You put Pam on the line."

She wasn't far off--I heard her laugh when he summoned her over. "Yes, he's been looking at dresses, and yes, you'd hate all of them," she said in lieu of greeting. "He apparently has no idea that you'd want a dress with some kind of bra." I heard Eric's great ringing laugh in the background.

After a few questions tossed to Pam--I just knew Eric wasn't going to be any help in this department--I got an idea of what to wear. I also argued against the idea of Eric buying my dress for me. It just felt too…intimate, even though I was hardly going to say that to Pam. We set up a compromise: I'd get to find my dress, and Fangtasia would reimburse me for my costs. (Including, Pam made sure to tell me, probably for the benefit of Eric's imagination, any lingerie necessary.)

We got off the line and I couldn't say I wasn't a little excited. I guess that's the truth of my life with the Supes: I nearly get killed next to them on a regular basis, but damn if they're not exciting to hang out with.

I didn't hear from the vamps (including a certain Viking) until the day of the party itself. Firmly telling myself I was going to investigate, I gave myself one last look-over in the mirror before heading out to meet Sam, who was going to carpool with me to Shreveport. Sam and some of the shifters were "special guests" of Area 5 tonight--meaning, Sam told me, they'd been alerted that someone was out to kill Supes, there was a possibility something might happen tonight, and it'd be in their best interest to keep an eye on things. I wiggled a bit in my dress, keeping an eye on _my _things. I knew from experience these kinds of events got rowdy (that is, pretty darned violent) fast, and I really didn't want to end another Supe party with my boobs hanging out.

Just to be sure that didn't happen, I checked my top for the umpteenth time. I'd gone to the clearance rack at Dillard's--always the best place to pick up fancy dresses, I had heard. Sure enough, I scored the prettiest ice-blue dress there for $18.99; it was a little number with a halter top and a snug fit around the hips. I jumped around experimentally in it--nope, no flying cleavage, thank goodness. I twisted around to give myself a thorough once-over. The shoes were Payless and silver, my skin was freshly tanned thanks to a run to the salon behind the video place, and my hair was pinned up elaborately, from Arlene's skill. (She was mad as a wet hen when she found out the party I was attending was for vampires, but she wasn't going to muck up what she'd done to my hair in revenge--it would "ruin her art," she told me.) I grabbed the little purse I'd picked up at Claire's and was on my way.

Sam was in far less of a party mood than I was. He gave me some nice compliments as we got into his car, but he was painfully quiet most of the way. Finally, I caved:

"If you didn't want to come, Sam Merlotte, you didn't have to!"

He fixed his "you are crazy, Sookie" look on me. It was very similar to his expression when he found out I'd been dating Bill. "I don't object at all to coming. We're all in this together and if those creeps have been in my bar already, I don't want them coming back to do anything." He paused. "It's just a bit depressing, y'know?"

"What do you mean?" My smile was fake and absurd. I grant you, I was pretty nervous. I'd managed to evade "the chat" with Sam for eons now, and I really didn't want him to launch into me with talk of "feelings" while I was in a closed cab with him.

Sam shook his head and his thick hair settled down in soft fluffs around his face. "It's depressing that whatever we do--or don't do--this kind of hate keeps coming back at us. And who knows what will happen?" He glanced over at me. "What would have happened if those guys at lunch had tried something, Sook? We would never have seen it coming."

"We wouldn't have seen it if a car hit us right now, either," I objected. "What's the difference?"

"I guess there is none." Now I saw Sam's white smile gleam at me. "I guess the lesson is seize the day."

"Or don't get killed by it," I retorted.

"I'll drink to that," Sam said, and I fell back against the headrest, waiting for Shreveport to pull into view.

It came sooner than I expected--or maybe I just fell asleep while listening to Sam's unending Elvis CD. I wish I could've introduced him to Bubba, but that was a whole 'nother can of worms. At the moment, I had to find an arsonist.

We pulled up in front of the Bastet, making a few security stops before we were allowed to the entrance. All guests had to surrender their cars to the valet, so Sam's old truck had to go, too, even though Sam scowled at the nervous man taking the keys. (I couldn't blame the man, John; he was transmitting loudly and I learned he'd signed up for the job because the pay was excellent, but it suddenly didn't seem as good a deal when you had to deal with a couple of hundred Supes in one night.)

I wanted to reassure John somehow, but Sam herded me into the entrance and another round of security checks. All-in-all, though, it was better than the airport; at least nobody had to pat me down. (I saw several Supe guards giving each other _looks_ when my name came up, so I thought I apparently had been given special clearance. Or, more likely, human women weren't very likely at a big party dedicated to the consumption of human blood, I realized.)

We entered the ballroom and it was packed. Literally, since the shifters were present--I giggled to myself, making Sam give me one of his patented frowns. A vampire band was playing and vamps were dancing, chatting, and generally behaving themselves. (I ignored the blood fountain, which was at least legal--that counted as "behaving themselves.") Quinn was present, walking around the perimeter of the ballroom and talking to somebody on a headset. I saw some of the vamps I knew or had met--Evie, in a black leather gown that showed off her boobs, was talking to some male vamps who were ogling her chest, not her goblet of blood.

"Wow, she looks like--" Sam began.

"Trash," I muttered. I might be a good Christian woman many days of the year, but that woman did not bring it out in me. Never you mind that I knew nothing more of her than her face and (considerable) body.

Sam gave me a surprised look, but said nothing else as I scanned the room. There was Pam; she was wearing a pretty gold dress that made her look softer than usual.

"Your friend--she might be _smiling_," Sam whispered to me, almost in awe.

I gripped his arm. "That's generally not a good sign. Don't get any ideas."

"That would be wise," a new voice spoke by us. It was Eric, of course; he'd materialized right next to us, and as he spoke, he took my hand off Sam's arm and wound it over his own. "Shifter," he nodded to Sam, who nodded back. He looked at me, and now his eyes smiled down. They were the same color of my dress, I realized with a throb. "Sookie. My, don't you look delicious."

"I was going for anemic," I spoke back, but I was half in a daze. Eric's handsomeness came as a shock on normal occasions; now, when he was cleaned up, in an elegantly fitted tuxedo that no doubt had made his tailor weep with pride. I swallowed with great difficulty, and forced myself not to peek to see how the trousers fit his behind.

He laughed and spun me like a jewelry-box ballerina beneath his fingers. "I like it. Very, very nice. It suits you." He pulled me in abruptly, as if to kiss my cheek. His lips lingered by my ear instead. "Anything of note yet?"

"Nothing, no," I stammered. It's hard enough to keep my senses when Eric's around--a tuxedo, Eric, and some sinful cologne was enough to set me drooling. I kept my mouth clamped tightly shut. My own drool ending up in my cleavage was not classy, I reminded myself.

"Let's have a look, then," he said, taking my elbow and steering me around the room. I tried to pretend this was natural and we didn't look a bit ridiculous here--Eric trying to walk at a slower pace for me, and yours truly trying to keep pace in heels. It was a hard job--Eric had to talk up all of his fanged friends, and I had to make polite small-talk while alternately scouting the room and trying not to get annoyed with Eric. (I'd feel a cold finger trace down my back when I was distracted, which just distracted me further. I retaliated by slipping a hand under jacket and giving his bottom a good pinch, but it didn't have the same effect, I'm afraid. He just looked down at me with unabashed delight and said, "You can't keep your hands off me, can you?")

I was convinced the night was going to be a bust and I allowed myself eventually to enjoy the party for what it was. A few champagnes later and I was out on the dance floor, working my thing. No matter what else people can say about me, they have to admit, I can dance! I even dragged Sam out to the floor for a couple of numbers, although Sam was reluctant to take any of the sexier songs. ("I know you say nothing's going on between you guys, Sook, but I have a feeling Northman's not wanting to share tonight.") He was right; the first time another vamp approached me, working up to ask me to dance, Eric was suddenly there, a too-bright smile on his face, and the nice vamp slid away with an awkward goodbye.

I wanted to yell at him, but he gave me that awful smirk that Did Things to my insides. "How is it I haven't had you yet--in a dance?"

"Maybe I've been lucky so far." I stuck out my tongue. Childish, I know, but he brings it out in me.

He grinned further. "Maybe I will be. Come, Sookie, dance with me."

"Fine, but you better keep up!"

He just laughed and pulled me out to the floor. He had no reason to fear, I knew perfectly well. I'd always thought of big men as ungraceful, until I met Eric, who must've studied at a Fred Astaire studio at some point in his one thousand years. He could dance very well for his size, and when it came to the steamier songs, he had no reluctance in letting it be known he shared the sentiments of the lyrics.

"You know, I don't think our guy is here," I half-yelled to him, over the thumping music.

He bent me backwards and nipped playfully at my throat. "Pity."

I rolled my eyes at him but ruffled his hair with my hand anyway. "Look, I'm going to stop in the ladies' and then get a drink."

"Very well." He spun me to the edge of the floor, allowing me a direct path to the restrooms.

I'd headed off just to get my breath and get my head clear, I admit. It was far too easy just to dance out there and remember why I was there--that somebody out there had tried to kill at least one of my friends, and clearly wanted to hurt all of the Fangtasia lot somehow. I had to stay focused. Hot blond Vikings were not helping me stay focused.

I swung my gaze slowly across the walls as I walked to the ladies--and then froze. Right there, by the door to the courtyard. A familiar form. I didn't have time to signal to anybody--I just hustled as I fast as I could out that door, and then kicked off my shoes ($9.99, anyway) and broke into a run across the courtyard, in pursuit of a shape.

He was walking fast but he didn't know I was running behind him. The party's noise helped cloak the sound of my dash after him, across the yard, and into the adjoining servants' drive. I didn't know what I'd say if I saw him--maybe ask if he'd seen my shoes!--but I wasn't going to let this go.

He was climbing into a truck--a big Chevy, newer model. I ran forward and squinted desperately as the Chevy's rear lights came on, trying to lock my eyes on the license plate. H8L796-or was that an 8? Was that L an I? Oh, hell, why didn't I get that eye doctor's appointment last year, like Jason said I should?

"MOVE!" I heard a great roar all around me and suddenly I was being moved sideways, just as the truck was bearing backwards down upon me. The truck's engine faded from my ears as I heard my gasping breaths and above them, a certain voice. "I can't let you go an inch from me, can I?"

"Eric," I clutched his lapels, and from the encouraging squeeze I got in return, I realized he was not opposed to a little display of faintness. Just so long, I reminded myself dully, as it didn't involve a teary breakdown. Well, I didn't feel like crying just now--I felt fit to spit nails.

"That bastard tried to kill me!"

"Just got that, did you?" Eric's voice was amused but grim. "And here Pam wanted first shot at him. I'm afraid I'm going to have to fight her for those rights."

"You called my name, master?" We both glanced back to see Pam there, in her gown, and Sam hot on her heels. Pam, I noticed, had my shoes dangling from her finger-tips. "I noticed Cinderella here had lost her shoes." She shot me a look. "I thought she'd need them and you wouldn't mind if I returned them." She looked back at Sam. "You don't want to know what I feared was happening." Sam had the class to look embarrassed on my account. Eric of course looked nonchalant. "Here, Eric, put these on her. She can't bend over in that dress, much as you'd like her to."

Eric frowned and looked at the ground doubtfully, as if to protest--vamps, as a rule, do not kneel. But Sam made a motion as if he weren't too high to help a lady with her shoes, and suddenly I had a blond Prince Bloodsucking at my feet, fitting my shoes on my feet cautiously. Despite his dismay at being put in a servile position, he adapted just fine; he gave me a smoldering look, wetting his lips, and channeled his usual unflappable Eric self enough to run his hand up my calf in a highly unnecessary manner when he put the final shoe on.

I pulled away from his loose grip, shivering from something other than the cool night air. "Well, I guess we'd better be getting inside." I wasn't moving, though. I was having a hard time looking away from those eyes.

"We'd better." Pam was looking back and forth between Eric and I with undisguised amusement. "Lest someone try to attack you again, Sookie. We don't know what other part of your clothing you might lose."

That caused Sam to huff impatiently. "Are we done here?"

Sam's irritation broke the spell I was under--I pulled away, allowing myself to follow Pam and Eric back into the ballroom. Sam gave me a speculative glance but I opted not to fill him in on all the details just yet. Did we really know anything we didn't before? And you never knew who--or what--was listening. I knew he could figure out something had happened, and when I looked pointedly at the outside, he knew the suspect was gone, too. That was all he needed for the moment.

Pam and Eric both had more vamp business to deal with, but Sam and I were of a mood to call it a night. Eric had arranged for us to have rooms at the Bastet, along with the vamps--separate, of course, I observed wryly.

I allowed one of the hotel workers to take me up to my room. It was a suite, I found, at the top of the Bastet--I actually asked the bellboy if it was the right room, when he led me into the sitting area by the door. It didn't fit--Eric had booked the Fangtasia staff's rooms (a holiday bonus, I gathered), but I didn't think he was the kind to go this overboard. Plus, even when I went to Rhodes with the Fangtasia staff, my room wasn't half as fancy as this one. I peeked into the bedroom: it was semi-dark. Just a few lamps lit the giant room with the great windows looking across Shreveport's prettier side. I didn't want to ruin the view, so I didn't turn on anymore as I investigated--there was a lush bathroom that looked like something from a celebrity magazine, a second bathroom, and plenty of fancy gadgets, like the pretty flat TVs on the walls. Even the bed was fancy, with controls for heat, mattress pressure, and who-knows-what, I noticed, on each side.

It was a little too techie for me, but I knew at least one guy who would appreciate it. I smiled wryly out at Shreveport's night, wondering if the vamps' bedroom was half as nice as mine. Maybe Eric had upgraded my quarters, knowing I'd be the only one of the Fangtasia people (that is, the living ones) there who could appreciate it?

Eric. I sighed, trying to push the feelings away, and tugged my hair out of the clips holding it up. I'd have a hell of a time trying to make something so elaborate of it ever again: Arlene might hate herself a vamp, but she wasn't going to let my hair go undone for a fancy occasion.

My hair came down across my shoulders like a caress, and there went my brain again. Or my body, I guess I should say. I tried to put my forehead against the cold glass, willing it to calm my raging hormones.

"Damn him!" I grumbled to the glass. It was all his fault, I decided, for looking so ridiculously sexy tonight, and Lord God, the way he'd danced with me…I came out of my mental fog to see I'd made an actual fog on the window with my heaving breaths, and I scowled. Get a grip on yourself, Stackhouse, I ordered myself firmly. I was a strong woman. I was not going to sit around, a horny mess, just because Eric had worked me up and then left me to do his damn vampire stuff--wasn't that always the way?

Well, then. I stared myself down in the glass. I wasn't going to be some pitiable toy for his amusement, or anybody else's. I was going to take care of Sookie Stackhouse's needs. Which meant, I admitted, I was going to have to resort to a cold shower. There was no way in hell I was going to do anything _else_ when Eric could just pop in at any moment. (And for all I knew, pop by just to hear me yell his name. I'd never live that one down.) I rubbed the back of my neck and started to unzip my dress, adjusting my now-aching breasts in the halter as I did so.

Just as I was doing so, I heard a sharp knock on the door. "Room service!"

Confused, I looked over at the door.. I had no fear of being accosted; the security on these levels was too tight for a non-guest to access, and the staff had all been there for years, I was told. I stared as the door being to swing open. "But I didn't order--oh. Oh. _Oh._"

The topic of my recent speculation was leaning in the doorway, his tuxedo shirt opened at the front and his bowtie undone. I gaped unabashedly at the exposed section of his upper chest, before dragging my gaze up to his half-smile and glowing eyes. "It's room service for me, not for you. Sookie," he said, straightening up, and suddenly his tone was not light at all. "I find I am not pleased when you are away from me."

It felt like there was an invisible hand around my throat; I could do nothing as he stepped in, shutting the door behind him. I heard a click and something clicked in me, too.

His eyes had not left me. I knew what his prey felt like, now, and yet I wasn't terrified. Far from it, from the way my abdominal muscles had begun to shiver. "Sookie," he said in a smoky voice, a kind of purr that came not from his lungs but from somewhere far lower. "I want my woman."


	26. Chapter 26

His eyes had not left me. I knew what his prey felt like, now, and yet I wasn't terrified. Far from it, from the way my abdominal muscles had begun to shiver. "Sookie," he said in a smokey voice, a kind of purr that came not from his lungs but from somewhere far lower. "I want my woman."

He was three steps in the room and so far had not approached me further, a half-room between us, and my body was singing. A Viking tune, I thought, as another shiver rippled through me. "Eric," I answered in a whisper, rocking slightly on my heels. "I want--" my fingers worked where they had been before--

"Yes?" He asked, in the darkest tones I've ever heard from him.

"My man," I whispered, and let my fingers come free of the fabric. The dress slid down in a silvery pool to my heels, and if I were cold before, my body was now on fire under his blazing blue gaze. He was taking his time in taking me in, I knew, from the lingerie (blue and white, to match the dress, of course), the absolutely unnecessary garter (red) I'd worn, for reasons I refused to speculate upon, to my face, nervously waiting for his response.

Abruptly, he was there, a millimeter from my ear. "I am here, lover." I felt his rough-tipped fingers move my chin up and sweep delicately across my lower lip, his blue eyes boring into mine for one long, unfathomable moment. I whimpered and the corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

He was still silent, though, as he leaned down and his lips barely brushed mine. I attempted to pull him into me, but he shook his head just slightly, stepping back and suddenly going down in front of me. Before I could object, I felt his mouth against my abdomen, his tongue burning against my navel. I gasped slightly; his hands directed me to grab his shoulders as he lifted one of my legs and slid it over his shoulder. He turned his face to that thigh, moving his lips and then his teeth against my thigh, before using his teeth to pluck the garter from my skin and pull it away. I squirmed as his tongue swept across my upper thigh slowly, feeling like all the world like an ice cube was being drawn across my most intimate skin. And then, in the most unspeakable act of torture known to humankind--I am sure of it--he began to move his face delicately across the upper skin of my thighs, placing light kisses here and there, the rasp of his beard alternating with his lips across my fevered skin. I cried out helplessly, my hands trying to guide him to me, but he took his murderous time before moving across my center. He leaned deeply into the fabric there, inhaling first, then placing his mouth just so and exhaling there, before he started to kiss me in the way he might kiss my mouth.

"Oh, Jesus, Eric," I was surprised I was that coherent, given the fact my one knee was buckling, the other wantonly rolling against Eric's shoulder. His hands were now clamped on my hips, holding me upright; otherwise, I'd have been on the ground, dragging him down on top of me. Hell, I was so far gone that I tried to pull down my panties and he cruelly swatted my hands away. I even leaned back to give him better access; for that, at least, he growled appreciatively. It was a good thing he was a vampire and so much stronger than me, because otherwise I'm sure I would have injured him, from the way I was clutching his blond hair. He growled again, and my entire body shimmered beneath those hands, those lips.

He pulled back just a tiny bit, to blow cool air against my burning body. Somewhere distantly I heard a woman crying out in pleasure and felt my knee give finally way. "_Yes_," Eric hissed, before his face appeared in front of mine, sapphire eyes triumphant; his arms swept under my behind, lifting me straight up; my legs crossed over his tuxedo-clad back before he deposited me on the giant bed. I was breathless and my body was still surging with adrenaline, as he loomed over me, ripping off my panties so quickly that all I knew was a sudden sting of air by my lower body, making me moan again.

"Oh, Jesus, _yes_."

"Name's Eric, lover," I heard above me, in a smug voice. That gave me enough sobriety to crawl back up to my knees, abruptly aware of the difference in our clothing. Eric, to his credit, was not trying to hold out on me--he yanked off his jacket as I started work on his tuxedo shirt, finding his skin beneath it as soft and satiny as the fabric draped over it. I parted the shirt over his rose-pink nipples, latching my mouth on one in imitation of the night in which we'd bonded.

Even without blood being exchanged, the movement was apparently pleasurable for Eric; he groaned, threw back his head, and ripped at his belt. "Even before I fuck you, you're the best I ever had," he hissed; I rewarded him (and myself) by cupping his gorgeous butt, but he pulled back, regarding me with slitted eyes. Now I stared at him in outright hunger: his skin, glowing pink with exertion, his hair, wild from my abandoned grip, his shirt, torn open to the waist, his slacks undone, and of course--"Oh, _my_"--the presence of one of my two favorite parts of him below. I didn't care that I was almost entirely naked, ridiculously clad in just a bra and nothing but my own body moisture; I didn't care that I was all but rubbing myself against this glorious man; all I cared about was getting him naked as soon as possible. Preferrably, for as long as possible.

He apparently felt my anxiety, for his infamous teasing grin lit his face as he slowly undid the last buttons of his shirt and shrugged out of it. I rubbed my hands against my thighs helplessly; he saw the gesture, lifted a pointed eyebrow, and then slid his hands to his surprisingly narrow waist, slim enough to set off both his lovely behind and the sculpted iron breadth of his shoulders. The shoulders I wanted badly to see marked by my fingernails, and no other.

I watched, swallowing with difficulty, as he shimmied out of his pants and then his black silk boxers. No candy-canes tonight, I thought, but I didn't need them--I had candy enough of a different kind.

He knew I was staring (hell, knowing it was Eric, he probably expected it), and he stood there for a good long minute, smirking at me in the semi-lit room as I devoured his body with my eyes. "Feel free," he said, and his hand apparently felt quite free, drifting downwards to give himself a significant stroke.

"Oh, my, gracious." I ogled; I couldn't help myself. I was hardly the most experienced woman in the world, and I had a gut suspicion that few women had seen anything finer than Eric.

He swelled under my gaze, not just his ego. I gasped a little and he smiled. "Gracious plenty, didn't you say?"

_(to be continued, don't worry!)_


	27. Chapter 27

"Oh, my, gracious." I ogled; I couldn't help myself. I was hardly the most experienced woman in the world, and I had a gut suspicion that few women had seen anything finer than Eric.

He swelled under my gaze, not just his ego. I gasped a little and he smiled. "Gracious plenty, didn't you say?"

"And then some," I added, instinctively moving closer. I put my hands on the pillar that was his abdomen, pulling him towards the bed; licking his lips, he followed easily, climbing lithely over the comforter as I drew us up to the head of the bed. Just as he started to lower himself over me, though, I shook my head, earning a warning eyebrow.

"Explain." His voice was throbbing, like certain parts of his anatomy, which was currently brushing my thigh, creating wildfires in my lower body.

"I want my turn first." I pushed lightly against those perfect shoulders and he rolled back with a frustrated grunt.

"I used to think you were too kind. I retract that, woman."

I laughed and lowered my hands to his pectoral muscles, tracing them with my finger-tips. One tightened and moved up into my palm. "Most men would like this."

"I am not _most men_." Up went that blond eyebrow again. I had a sudden urge to lick it, so I did. He laughed slightly, a sound that suddenly became a very urgent growl when he apparently noticed the proximity of my chest to his face. "If you must play, then, off with this device, woman." His hands, which were firm against my ribcage, slid up to pop the hooks of my bra. "It has served its purpose." His teeth flashed up at me as he smiled; the bra dropped from my arms, and he licked his red lips again. His fingers curved upwards to tickle the sides of my breasts, but I pulled back. He let me go reluctantly.

"I want to touch _you_," was all I said, as I resumed my exploration. He was hardly marble--the flesh beneath my hands yielded, shivered, and shook beneath my hands and mouth as I made my way down his abdomen, letting my palms learn where the grooves of muscle were, letting my tongue lave the tightly pulled navel. I took my time with the only vulnerable section in that great, gorgeous expanse of his torso--the delicate open skin that led down from his hip to his groin, still as soft and bare as it might have been when he was a baby, I thought, pressing a kiss there. Turning downwards, I inhaled deeply in the golden curls there--as I remembered from when we were last together, his normal earthy body scent was mixed there with something sweeter, something that made my throat run dry. Of its own accord, my tongue came forth to wet my lips and then his skin. Next to my cheek, his body registered his own immediate reaction to the kiss I left there, and I slid my face and then my mouth about him in a caress that left him hissing above me. My hands slid down, wrapping themselves about the chiseled muscles in his thighs, now bunching and jumping like bands of live electric wire beneath my fingers; with a clench, I pulled them up again, across the soft plain of skin where his leg hair stopped and then groin hair began, to help me pay reverence to the man, all man, beneath me.

"I want you," I whispered again, coming to the tip.

In a heartbeat, I was on my back and he was above me. In the lamp's muted glow, I could not see the pure blue of his eyes, just a dark, desiring navy, and a mouth that was no longer smiling. "Then I will have you."

His lips latched on mine and for several minutes, we just kissed like that, as if to make love with lips and tongues alone. As I came up for air, he turned desperately to my neck, marking me with his kisses. I arched in response; I shivered convulsively against his leg, thrown between my own, and felt his body react. My fingers tightened on his back as a thought managed to permeate the pounding lust in my brain.

"Eric, Eric, Eric," I pleaded in a whisper, turning my face to his and getting caught up in his lips. He attended to the push of my palms against his sleek skin, rearing back just slightly. Our eyes met in the dark and abruptly, all I could hear in the room was my heaving breaths.

"Tell me." Even in the poor light, I could feel his eyes locked on mine, as he slid his lower body next to mine. That reminded me. Eric was more than Big and Tall in his tailoring only.

"Eric--I haven't--please--" I didn't know how to say this, as he just cocked his head slightly, watching my face without a trace of amusement. I pulled him down to whisper to his ear, "I haven't been with another man since--since you."

His eyes reappeared over mine. "Not--"

I shook my head. "Not that way. Please--be sweet?" I asked in a rush.

He lifted one of his large hands to stop my worried mouth, and then he lowered his lips to follow. Our lips were barely parted when he spoke again, staring down into my eyes as if he wanted us to join there, not just below. "Done."

I expected him to get on with it--Eric's not know for his patience, and his body was making very clear what he wanted. What I wanted too, I couldn't deny, whimpering slightly as his chest rubbed lightly against my breasts. But surprising me again, he seemed to go slower, not faster. He kissed me languorously after that, shifting us sideways so that his hands could travel down my body in gentle strokes, as if to memorize me all over again; his palms cupping me, he dropped quiet kisses across my chest. As he bent his head down to lave my nipples, his hair swinging across my breasts, he brought one palm to my lower body, just touching me, as I found my pelvis drawn to him of its own accord. And then, abruptly, just as his teeth scraped the underside of my breast, he turned his fingers to me.

I had to dig my heels into the mattress, and staying silent was not an option. "Oh, sweet _Jesus_, Eric…"

He didn't bother to correct me this time, although I felt his lips form a smile against my skin. His fingers were still toying with me; he started to test my readiness, and oh, boy, there was no doubt about that--I cried out when his fingers moved into me, stroking me there, but it wasn't the pain I feared. My lower muscles were clutching and releasing like the pistons on a train, my legs shaking, and I clutched at Eric's iron arms for some kind of support. And still he kept those fingers dancing across and in me, those long, slender, evil, incredible, magnificent, smart-assed, gorgeous, sexy, knowing fingers--I heard myself calling out, threatening to stake him if he stopped; I saw his eyes above mine, glowing--"Let go, Sookie, there'll be more--" --and then he disappeared from view again to kiss me, his teeth sinking into my thigh just at the very moment I gave way.

I came back to see a very excited Viking looming over me. "You are incredible, woman." His mouth crashed down mine again, and his body settled between my legs, his hands sliding down across my shaking thighs. Our lips broke so that I could breathe, and as I panted, staring into those eyes, I felt the questioning brush of his large body against me. I closed my eyes instinctively and started to push down to take him, but the pressure of his fingers stopped me. "Look at me," he said roughly; my eyes popped open to meet the blazing in his, he shifted, and suddenly--Oh. _Oh. _OH. And he wasn't even all the way in yet.

We weren't moving, I realized; my fingernails were clutching at his shoulders, which, shaking too, were keeping his frame immobile above me and in me. His face was scanning mine, although we were millimeters apart. "Breathe, Sookie." I blinked and managed a tiny exhale, although every cell of my body, now wrapped around his entry, was screaming to take in, not out. "Look at me." Maybe he was trying to see if he'd hurt me--he _was_ walking proof of the big feet rule--or maybe he was just indulging in that eye contact fetish of his, but either way, when he spoke to me like that, all kinds of Things Happened to my body, I am ashamed to say, even though he'd not yet begun to move.

My hips jerked anxiously under his hands; this was apparently all the invitation he needed, because as his molten mouth descended again, laving fevered skin and laying burning kisses alike across my neck and mouth, his hips dove downward to claim me, pinioning into me, creating a lava-like heat that bubbled up within me. "Eric! Please, Eric!" Frantic from the pressure he was making there, I groaned, wailed, rubbed desperately against him, clenched him from inside, causing both of us to moan. "Yes, yes, yes, oh, God, baby, Eric, _yes_." I was apparently the talker of the two of us--while he hissed into my skin, I grabbed at him and chanted out his name with each deep swing of his hips, each rock of my own pelvis up to meet his. Impatient, I scrambled for better purchase, and he grunted enthusiastically, catching my legs over his forearms and tilting me up for a deeper angle. It seemed like forever and no time at all as he crashed into me, drawing me deeper and deeper into the blue ocean of his eyes. If I started to give into the stars dancing behind my lids, he paused just long enough to bring our gazes together again, to cause me to cry out for him all the more. And then the dancing stars grew more vivid in my vision, as the world tunneled down to the tiny circle just around us--himself, as he howled my name and thrust one last name down into me, and myself, as I, looking up into his shining eyes, gave in to the volcano within me, and let go once more, screaming, "_Eric! Eric! I love--"_

And then my world went black.

_Yes, there's more to come. We're nowhere near finished. _


	28. Chapter 28

_AN: Yes, there was an error in the last section, as Sookie forgets she did in fact sleep with Quinn. But give the girl some slack: If you were in the middle of this, wouldn't you be a bit muddled, too? ;) _

_*****_

My hips jerked anxiously under his hands; this was apparently all the invitation he needed, because as his molten mouth descended again, laving fevered skin and laying burning kisses alike across my neck and mouth, his hips dove downward to claim me, pinioning into me, creating a lava-like heat that bubbled up within me. "Eric! Please, Eric!" Frantic from the pressure he was making there, I groaned, wailed, rubbed desperately against him, clenched him from inside, causing both of us to moan. "Yes, yes, yes, oh, God, baby, Eric, _yes_." I was apparently the talker of the two of us--while he hissed into my skin, I grabbed at him and chanted out his name with each deep swing of his hips, each rock of my own pelvis up to meet his. Impatient, I scrambled for better purchase, and he grunted enthusiastically, catching my legs over his forearms and tilting me up for a deeper angle. It seemed like forever and no time at all as he crashed into me, drawing me deeper and deeper into the blue ocean of his eyes. If I started to give into the stars dancing behind my lids, he paused just long enough to bring our gazes together again, to cause me to cry out for him all the more. And then the dancing stars grew more vivid in my vision, as the world tunneled down to the tiny circle just around us--himself, as he howled my name and thrust one last name down into me, and myself, as I, looking up into his shining eyes, gave in to the volcano within me, and let go once more, screaming, "_Eric! Eric! I love--"_

And then my world went black.

"Oh, my sweet Lord," I muttered, when the orgasmic spasms had finally left my body and the stars left my eyes. I turned my head to see Eric flopped face-down, partly on me, partly to the side.

"I told you we should have done this sooner." His voice came to me from somewhere in the pillows. "I've never fucked you to unconsciousness before."

"Shut up," I said automatically.

His face, lifting from the pillow, emerged from the wild mane of his hair, and he smirked out right at me. His eyes glowed down at me. "Speaking of…you say such _interesting_ things when you're--"

Quick as a wink, I clapped a hand over his mouth. "I don't know what you mean, but I seem to remember you saying a few things, too." Mostly my name and a language I didn't understand, but my body certainly did. I shifted my hips at the memory. His eyes darkened and I felt his lips open, his tongue escaping to touch my palm. Instinctively, I jerked backwards into the mattress, and he lunged on me, his mouth at my ear, my wrists in his hands.

"That's not what I meant, love," he said in a low voice that seemed pitched to all of the parts of me that were now pressed against him. He released my hands and shifted backwards, his eyes still on me as if he expected me to run from the bed at any moment. Wordlessly, I dropped my palms to his big shoulders and rubbed them apologetically.

"Oh, Eric, I've cut your back!" There were a few red marks on his shoulders, where apparently my nails had scored him.

He shrugged. "Worth it." When I ran a sorrowful hand down his spine, he leered at me. "Very, very worth it." His eyes suddenly made me very aware that we were both still naked, and in Eric's case, he didn't suffer from the same need to sleep that human guys do. He rolled fully to his side. Yup, he _definitely_ did not need to sleep. His hand drifted down his abdomen. "Although you could _apologize_ to me, if you wanted…?"

"I'm all gross," I objected, moving my limbs experimentally. How hard _had _I climaxed? I felt like I'd gone several rounds with a prize fighter.

"Beg to differ." Up went that damnable eyebrow again.

I rolled my eyes. "Look, there's a great big tub in the bathroom--"

"Hmmm, I might like this," he interrupted, and rolled to his feet. He was in a good mood--a really, _really_ good mood--and for all of his teasing, he allowed me to lead him into the bathroom with me. "You may wash me all over, lover." As he bent over to turn on the taps, he glanced back at me. "Yes, even my ass, which you keep staring at."

"I wasn't staring at it!" Okay, I was. How could I not? It'd be like visiting the Louvre and not seeing the _Mona Lisa_.

He just grinned and held out at a hand. "Of course." We settled into the water and he pulled me into a kneeling position over his lap. "Just as I'm not staring at _these_." His hands came up to wander across my chest, squeezing my breasts slightly.

"They're just boobs. I don't see why you're so fascinated with them."

His laugh echoed in the marble bathroom. "Same reason you wanted a piece of my bottom?" He winked. "I've been wanting to get my hands on these for a while."

"Oh, hush," I said, but shivered as his thumbs swept across my nipples. "I still can't believe we--"

"Oh, yes." Even if Eric couldn't speak, the grin on his face said it all.

I whimpered a little when his fingers stopped, and he resumed plucking at my nipples lightly. "I still can't--_oh_--believe--_nice_--Pam didn't call, or something."

His hands drifted below the water. "I don't give a fuck what is happening anywhere else tonight. Do you?"

I groaned and let his mouth move over my neck as his hands played with me. What was it about this guy that made me weak when he touched me? That made me forget everything in the world--my name, my age, hell, even my sexual history--when he was around? Even now, with my body straining into his hands, all I could think of was that I wanted him again. I groped down in the water between us. "Um, Eric?" His body already had answered the unspoken question; my old friend, Mr. Happy (or in Eric's case, Mr. Very, Very Happy), was tapping me affectionately.

He regarded me through narrowed eyes as he adjusted my hips over himself. We both inhaled as I descended on him, fitting against his pelvis with a delicious shiver. Lounging back against the wall of the big tub, his shoulders braced against the porcelain, Eric growled slightly at me, his tightening fingers on my rotating hips the only signs of what was going on beneath the water.

"You know," he began conversationally, as if he held heart-to-hearts while having sex on a daily basis. (I thought, unpleasantly, that with Eric anything was possible.) "I rather like hearing you talk when you come. It's very nice." He bucked up against me unexpectedly, and I gasped. "If you want to say _anything_ else…as you did before…feel free."

I grunted. "Whatever I said was just words. Don't get cocky." It was not the best choice of words, as he caught me before another down stroke, stopping me before I could grind down against him.

"Cocky, you say?"

With just his thick tip inside of me, I was in no mood for games: "Damn it, Eric!"

"Naughty language from such a good girl," he taunted me viciously, shifting his body just enough that I felt a very faint caress in my lowest parts. "See, you can talk very well during sex." I squirmed against his hands. "I just have to inspire you."

"If you don't let me go--" I started to say, but then inspiration struck me. I leaned forward as far as I could and brought my upper arms into my sides as if I were cold. Given that I'm what they call "generously endowed," that meant my boobs were effectively shoved right under Eric's face, my nipples pricked up, practically begging for him.

He might be an undead Viking vampire, but he's still a man, I thought victoriously, watching his eyes glaze over and his lips part unconsciously. His fingers pushed deeper into my flesh--I knew I'd have marks--and he somehow even managed to grow harder beneath me. I must have giggled, because he flicked a suspicious look up from my chest at me. "You are an evil woman, Sookie Stackhouse. And you know what happens to them?"

"What?" I grunted, rubbing myself helplessly against the little he'd give me. Bastard.

In a flash, he'd lifted me up, spun me around, heedless of the wave of water our motions caused, and positioned me over his groin. His hands were on my hips again, his lips at my ear. "They get good and fucked." In one sharp move, he brought me down hard on him, my body quite happily taking all he could provide.

"Oh, my Lord, Eric--"

His hands slid back to caress my ass as I rocked against him. "Keep talking, woman." When I whimpered helplessly, abruptly aware that he was staring at my size ten backside (six on a good day, I reminded myself), he gave me a slight swat. "Keep it up, I'm enjoying this."

"You are a _sick_, _sick_ man, Eric Northman…" I tried to hiss over my shoulder.

"This reminds me of how we were _together_ before, when I'd lost my memories…Outside, inside…as you told me...I am reminded of the kitchen table, how could I ever forget _that_…" he mused, massaging my rear lightly as our bodies surged together. How he could sound so collected, I'll never know; I was gasping like a marathoner on her last mile.

"You started that--!"

"Mmm…and the shower I so enjoyed?"

"Shut up," I started to say, but cut myself off with an abrupt intake of air. He had slid his big hands down my butt, to my upper thighs, and his exploratory fingers were now near another crevice. "You were saying?"

"Oh, _Jesus_!" He'd moved a burning hand around to my front, not stopping the steady impact of our bodies. The heated water of the tub was sliding up my inner thighs like his hands when I came down, touching me intimately; I felt that volcano inside of me, the one that he alone ignited, starting to bubble up again. "Oh, _Jesus, Eric…"_ The bliss was coming again, and I could barely see anything but the tiles of the wall ahead of me.

"Yesss," I heard him hiss urgently behind me, his motions becoming, like mine, increasingly more urgent.

I grabbed on to the sides of the tub for leverage, thrusting my hips down towards him. Unfortunately, whoever had designed our bath had not done so with this particular activity in mind, as my hands slid out abruptly and gravity threw me, with an ego-damaging splash, head-first into the tub at Eric's feet. "Oooomrrmargh," I gargled, as a roaring vampire drew me back up on my heels.

"Oh, no, I'm not done. You're not getting away from me that easily." Apparently deciding we'd failed at tub sex, he drew me upright and started to lift me over the tub edge. Eric was no more lucky than I was, however, in that cursed tub, as he promptly lost his footing, too. _"Fuck!"_

Eric might not have been luckier than me, but he was faster to react, as we landed rather safely on the floor, yours truly protected beneath him. For a moment, we just looked at each other, stunned. Then I got my wind back:

"You really are always trying to get on top of me, aren't you?"

My body vibrated from the sound of his laughter. "And in you, don't forget." A heated droplet fell from his chest to right between my breasts, and my skin prickled, but not from cold. His eyes lit up. "A convenient position, wouldn't you say?"

I was soaking wet, on a giant fluffy rug on a hard tile floor, and I had two hundred-some pounds of extremely aroused vampire on top of me. _I sure must've been good in a past life_, a part of me rejoiced, but the still-rational part spoke up. "Why don't we go to the bedroom," I started to say, but I had no time to complete the thought. His hands swept my thighs up over his hips and he plunged, thick and hard, down into me. His mouth slanted over mine and there was no longer a possibility of the playful banter we'd had before. Our wet skin was sliding together, our tongues doing the same, our breaths coming out just as gasps as we writhed together across the floor, my nipples scraping against his rough, hard pectorals, the soft skin of my belly repeatedly battered by the unyielding muscles of his. His hips gave me no quarter as he relentlessly thrust into me, every inch of my body consumed with the fire he was building inside of me. My hands gripped wantonly at that very fine ass of his, loving every minute.

I don't know how long we went on like that--I sure wasn't looking a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak, and timing it!--but a sweet eternity later found me panting up into Eric's face, still mumbling his name in a happy daze, as he braced himself over me, his wet hair clinging to his face and shoulders. "You enjoyed that. I am sure all of the neighbors heard you." He did not sound in the least chagrined by this. "Is your curvaceous, goddess-like form feeling less _gross_ now, oh, Sookie, my very satisfied lover?" He was all but preening. If he'd been a peacock--well, I guess Eric stuck other things out than feathers, come to think of it.

I stuck my tongue out at him for just a second--vampire reflexes are faster than humans', after all. I pushed at his naked chest lightly and he helped me get to my feet. "You weren't unhappy yourself," I grumbled half-heartedly. It's pretty damn hard when you've been blissed out multiple times in a row. I patted the pertinent parts of him, now at half-mast. He moved his hips unashamedly beneath my hand.

"Not at all," he groaned, first in arousal, then in disappointment when I took my hand away.

"Give me a few minutes! Some of us are human, y'know." Figures, I had to be the girl to hook up with men who _don't _fall asleep after sex. Eric clearly wasn't thrilled that I'd stopped petting him; he slung me, laughing and protesting alike, over his shoulder and marched us back to the bed. It was hard to be too mad when I got a wonderful view of his amazing rear end in action, reminding me suddenly of how badly I'd wanted him, the first time I'd seen that incredible rear end. I sighed and my stomach muscles contorted again, with that old hunger coming back to me.

"I can smell your arousal, you know." Eric tossed me on the bed and then slid in next to me, his body turned towards me. "If you'd like to me to do something about that, just let me know."

"You're such a martyr," I snorted.

He grabbed my chin and suddenly his eyes were scant inches from my own. "You like this." He paused, no doubt seeing the complete confusion on my face. His eyes seized mine again. "You like fucking me and I like fucking you." He grinned; his fangs were full out. "We do well together."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." I pulled away from his hands and snuggled into the pillow next to him. Relentless, he drew me to his side.

"Sleep for now, then. We will discuss this later."

_Fine, Your Royal Highness_, my brain protested, but I didn't dare provoke him. Instead, I just turned into his chest and allowed myself to fall asleep against that wall of bare, beautiful muscle.

I didn't sleep long--no doubt, my hormones no more wanted me to miss precious Eric time than Eric himself did. He was good, I'll admit that--and not just good at the sex, which was obvious, but good at keeping his hands off me while I slept. I woke up with his fingers running up and down my spine, but he wasn't even groping me as I'd have expected.

He seemed to be in a thoughtful mood, as he didn't even wake me with an innuendo. For Eric, that's a sign of Deep Thoughts ahead.

"Miss me?" I nuzzled against him playfully.

"Of course. You're much too quiet when you sleep." He flashed me his old smile, but he still seemed distracted.

I pushed out of the bed and headed off to take care of some pressing issues in the bathroom. Although his eyes followed me across the room, Eric made no comment on me still being naked. Not even when I wiggled my hips very deliberately, either! I don't want to sound egotistical here, but that's when I knew Eric definitely wasn't with me mentally.

"What's on your mind?" I finally asked him, when I came out of the bathroom.

He glanced over at me sharply. "What do you mean?"

"I _mean_…you seem off. What's wrong?" I paused by the doorway table where I'd slung my purse, and I grabbed my cell phone. "Did something happen when I was sleeping?" I had never had the problem of talking in my sleep before, so it could hardly be that I'd muttered another man's name or anything silly like that. Hell, Eric would normally just have taken that as a challenge to imprint his name on every square cell of my anatomy.

"Nothing's wrong." He looked at me under hooded eyes. "Dawn's coming soon."

"It is?" My question was rhetorical; I knew Supes well enough to know they don't joke about matters like the sun. After all, it meant life or death for the vamps alone.

"I'm half-tempted to rent this suite out for the rest of the week." His eyes were intent on me, watching my reaction. "I like the…_accommodations_. What would you say?"

Well-then. I guess girls weren't the only ones who had to deal with the What Happens Now issue. And I had no clue what to say. What did I want? I didn't know. I sighed and fumbled at my phone. I had no messages, of course, but it was a good distraction for a moment or two. Now I needed another. "All I know is…" I cast a sly look out the side of my vision at him; he was watching me, good. "I'm feeling…frustrated…unloved…"

"Unloved?" One of his eyebrows went up archly, and then it was joined by the other when I ran my hands over my breasts. It did zip for me, of course, but it sure made Eric swallow and forget all of his serious talk. Instead, it definitely set his mind to other topics, I thought proudly, watching the sheet lift.

I ran my hands down my body. It wasn't my skin but Eric's face that was giving me the tingles. "Unloved…untouched…"

That was all I could get out; before I could even touch myself, Eric's body had slammed into mine, lifting me up, wrapping my molten body around his, and pinning me against the wall of the sitting room.

"Not by me," he growled, our bodies fusing together as we banged into the sitting room wall. Gripping the wall of muscles that was his body, my legs went to rubber and I floundered for purchase and a better angle, shoving up off his still-slick shoulders, reaching out instinctively around me. A rack of DVD offerings tumbled down beside us, some hitting Eric, who hissed wordlessly.

"Don't stop," I cried out, flailing around again as Eric shifted us away from the small mountain of DVD cases. He shoved me up against another wall, pounding into me, and found a brilliant spot; I arched my back for all I was worth. My flinging arms caught another obstacle, however, and I heard yet another crash, as the wall-hanging TV met its end.

"Shit! The TV!"

"Unless it's helping me screw you, I don't give a fuck," he grunted. "Bend backwards more."

He drew us slightly to the side, stepping on and crunching DVD boxes right and left, but I didn't notice. Suddenly my right breast was on fire as his fangs sunk into the skin above it; my whole body, starting from where we were joined and radiating outwards, began to ripple and shimmer around him. I stretched backwards desperately, trying to drive our lower bodies even closer together, and caught something fabric with my fingers. With one last bellow, Eric thrust up into me as I shrieked his name, feeling his body release within me. As his knees finally gave out, he sank slowly backward, taking me, still joined with him, along for the ride. We ended up sprawled on the floor right there, Eric on his back, me on Eric, both of us naked as the day we were born.

"Miss? Mr. Northman? Are you quite all right in there?" the guard's voice echoed through the thick doorway and into our now-quiet sitting room, a smashed TV, a torn painting, and dozens of DVDs smashed and tossed across the floor.

Beneath me, Eric's face took on a blissful cast. "Perfect."


	29. Chapter 29

Beneath me, Eric's face took on a blissful cast. "Perfect."

Don't ask me how, but we somehow managed to make it back to the bed--probably because Eric wanted (and got) another round of loving. What can I say? In for a penny, might as well be for a pound, I figured.

That's how I woke up there hours later, naked and alone. Dawn had come, so Eric had gone off to his hidey-hole in the hotel; I noticed his clothes were gone, so the guards didn't get a show. (Remembering the view with a stupid smile on my face, I felt a brief pulse of pity for any female guards.) All of his clothes, that is, but for his bowtie, which he'd draped around my neck before he snuck off to who-knows-where. Remembering it made me think of him in my doorway…him undoing that shirt…and I shivered again. I shook my head to drive the memories away before I got myself all worked up, but damned if I didn't smell his cologne on that tie, which just set me off again.

"Well, hell." A cold shower would do me good, I figured. Not only would I be able to think past a night in the North, so to speak, but I'd be able to clean up after my evening exertions. Vampires might not sweat during sex, but humans still do, and we'd been…_busy,_ I thought, guiltily looking down at the destruction wreaked in the sitting room. My cheeks burned as I crossed into the bath to see a soaked carpet and a small flood on the floor. I tried not to think about what the hotel staff would assume about our activities as I cleaned myself up, and tried to clean up the bathroom as best I could. The stuff in the sitting room would probably be thrown out, but I could spare the poor maids a slip in what remained from my bath with Eric.

I was good and scrubbed as I threw on my clothes for the ride back and headed downstairs to meet Sam. He greeted me with a troubled face, guiding me into the hotel café. Only a handful of humans were there, of course--the vamps served by the Bastet weren't going to make use of the place. I felt sorry for the day staff; tipping had to be terrible.

"You okay, Sook? You look like hell this morning," Sam, between chomps on his ham, interrupted my thoughts as I poked at my eggs.

I blinked at him and looked around quickly for a mirror, anything reflective. _Did_ I look so awful? I had thrown my hair into a ponytail and was wearing a long-sleeved sweatshirt, but was that hardly hell? Sam, for pete's sake, had on a ratty flannel shirt over his t-shirt--he was hardly one to talk. "What exactly do you mean?" I tried to flush--Sam would hardly have called me out to mention if I had giant E-shaped hickeys on my neck, after all.

"You just look tired, that's all. I guess you would, since you were near that racket."

"Racket? What? Did something happen?"

"Oh, some folks on your floor were being real loud--I heard the guards on my floor talking about it. Said they'd had a few complaints, people worried that somebody was being killed." He rolled his eyes. Only a person whose life has been threatened regularly can truly laugh at that phrase. "I tried to call you and offer you the other double in my room, but your room number was turned off, and your cell wasn't going through."

"Oh--oh--I was just trying to sleep, you know how it is." My cheeks hurt from smiling. God, how I wished I could lie better. The fact my face was beet-red was probably not helping my credibility here, either.

Sam's brows lowered. Yup, not buying it all. "Oh, I do," he said slowly, then leaned in a fraction, and sniffed. I froze.

We spoke simultaneously:

Sam erupted: "Jesus, Sookie, don't tell me you _slept_ with him?" A look of dawning horror, as he set down his silverware. "Shit, that was _you? _With him? Did he hurt you?"

My face on fire, I cried back, "Sam Merlotte! That was a dirty trick and you know it! How dare you--you--_sniff _me like that! That's an invasion of my privacy! I don't go poking in your mind and you shouldn't stick your nose--nose--well, _there!_"

We fell back into our respective seats with arms folded, eyes glaring.

Sam broke first. "Look, Sook, I'm just concerned about you, you know that."

"I know that, but I don't tell you what girls to go with, either. And for the record, he did _not _hurt me. He never has." That was true, I realized with a flicker of surprise. Sure, he'd bitten me, but only when invited. I tried to refrain from dwelling on the memories--Sam, after all, was as good as reading bodies as I was minds.

I must've done a good enough job of controlling myself, because Sam just gave me a hard look and shook his head slowly. "You are a damned stubborn woman, Sookie. Too stubborn for your own good. And I know it's your life, so don't go telling me that." He wagged a finger in front of me, but far enough away that I didn't slap it aside. "Just be careful, okay? None of your friends want you--in trouble," he finished, after an awkward pause. I had no idea where he was going there--in trouble? How many times had I nearly been killed now? Or was he referring to "in trouble" in the way my Gran sometimes used it, to refer to a baby? I looked at Sam, momentarily horrified; was he thinking I'd end up like a vamp's version of Arlene, with a fanged blond baby on my hip? _Everybody _knew vamps couldn't have kids, he couldn't be referring to that--

He apparently didn't see my appalled expression. "You always are getting hurt when you hang out with that lot," Sam went on darkly, stabbing at a difficult sausage.

"Oh." For once, I was pretty darned grateful for being lectured for having suicidal friendships. I didn't even ream him for the way his _friend_, that bitch maenad, had ripped up my back that one time. "Oh, oh, um, thanks."

We ate in relative silence after that--Sam, I think, wasn't quite ready to look at me after the revelation of my escapades, and I was too pink-cheeked to push him much, either. In fact, I pretty much bolted down my food and hustled out to the carport first, to pick up Sam's truck and get our things loaded.

But it wasn't Sam's truck the valet pulled up--it was Eric's Corvette, unmistakable in its flashy red color and personalized BLDSKR license plate. Too surprised to speak up, I just studied it. Had there been some mistake? Maybe the staff assumed I was using Eric's car, since he'd booked my room? But I'd said Sam Merlotte, I was sure of it--or was I, I wondered, quickly flipping through my memories of the last two minutes. Maybe Eric had flown home and left me the Corvette to take back for him? I hesitated at the side of the door, unsure of what to do. The car was running there, the valet who'd driven it up for me nowhere in sight. I put my hand out to the handle finally--at the least, I could turn off the stupid thing, so we wouldn't waste Eric's gas while I debated.

"Sookie, no!" Behind me, Sam yelled, and he was suddenly next to me, grabbing me, dragging me down the carport and throwing me to the side.

"Oof!" I wish I had something more witty to share as I hit the asphalt, but that was it. The damned material scratched up my hands pretty bad, and I knew I'd have bruises on my knees for the experience.

For a long, breathless minute, we just laid there, and if this were a movie, there'd be dramatic music playing. But there was no roar behind us, no gunshots, no bad guys, nothing at all to indicate why Sam had hauled me down the way so quick and tossed me down like we were out-of-shape NFL players.

"Um, care to explain?"

He let me reluctantly, keeping his eyes behind us. "There's a bomb on the Corvette, Sookie. I don't know what'll trigger it."

"A _bomb_?" I turned to look back at the Corvette, half-expecting it to erupt in front of me. Instead, it just sat there, the engine purring its familiar manner. "How the hell did a _bomb_--wait, how did you know?"

Sam's eyes darted around, as if to see who-all was watching us (why anybody _wouldn't_, given the crazy way we'd just behaved, I don't know), and then he said under his breath, "I just know, okay?" I started to sputter in protest. "Fine, fine," he whispered curtly, and then tapped his nose significantly. When I still looked blank, he wiggled it, just like the witch in _Bewitched _used to do.

I couldn't help it--I burst out laughing. "You--you--you're a _bomb-sniffing d--"_

He cut me off, grabbing me by the shoulders. "It doesn't matter! What matters is somebody just tried to blow up the car you were getting in. Why the hell were you getting in there, anyway? Where's my truck?"

"This is what the valet brought up--oh, _shit, _Sam." I saw the realization dawning in his eyes. "Whoever is after Fangtasia is after anybody associated with Eric, so I guess that means me."

"Not to mention his car," Sam added, with a sorrowful look at the Corvette. Of course he'd be more interested in the automotive victim than the human one. Men, what can you say?

"Yeah, that'd be a tragedy." I was being snarky for Sam's sake, but truth be told, the idea of somebody going after the Corvette left me a bit shaky. That was just a bit too close to Eric himself sitting in it.

I shook my head. "Can we get the bomb off that thing? I mean, get the cops here to do it?" I added, after Sam's face indicated I'd clearly gone mental.

"Yeah, good idea." He pulled us to our feet. "I'll handle it."

Handle it he did. I was going to protest him taking charge like that, but it became apparent why he did so. When the desk manager started to dismiss his claims that the Corvette was booby-trapped, Sam leaned in and started talking to the guy in those fast, low tones that only Supes can pull off--kind of like a badge of ID when shifting, or drinking blood, would be inappropriate. I could feel immediately the manager nodding along urgently with Sam, apparently agreeing on the need to call the cops. My skin prickled when both men glanced over at me a few times, the name "Northman" decipherable in Sam's fast speech; whatever was said caused the desk manager to turn a few shades paler than his normal complexion, and me to turn a few shades redder. At least I had blocked his thoughts--knowing now that the hotel staff was "on" to us made me pretty nervous about hearing what he was thinking about Eric and yours truly.

"Do I want to know why that guy was looking at me?" I muttered to Sam as he came back to me.

"I know you're a private person." He took me by the elbow to guide me past the front desk and back to the cars. "But sometimes not being private helps to speed things up."

"What's that to mean?"

"I mean," he said, and we passed through the doorway and into the carport. Sam's truck was now there, with a waiting valet, whom Sam acknowledged with a brotherly nod. Probably a shifter, I thought. "I mean that--well, they weren't quite understanding the necessity of taking this bomb thing seriously, so I had to mention…" I paused as I fiddled with the seatbelt to glance over at Sam. Beating around the bush wasn't normally his style. "Well, that you're Eric's girlfriend." The last words came out in a rush as Sam threw the car into Drive and the truck began to move. His eyes were hidden from me, thanks to his sunglasses, but from the angle of his head, it was clear he didn't want to look at me in the face, sunglasses or not.

"You said _what? _I'm _what_?"

Sam winced at my pitch, but didn't back down. "Well, aren't you? I know you, Sookie Stackhouse. I know you're not the type to--"

"--don't you say it, I didn't tell you that, it's none of your business!--"

"Not the type to be with a guy if you weren't in it for the long haul," Sam finished grimly. "Even I know that, even when I don't want to believe it," he added, a touch sadly.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I glared out the side window. "And I'd appreciate if you didn't see fit to share your _theories_ with anybody else, either."

He hit his steering wheel so hard that I jumped. "Damn it, Sookie! It's not like I _wanted_ to go say, 'See that girl, the one I like, she's with Northman now.' "

My jaw was on the ground and then some. "We are not having that conversation again, are we?"

"No," Sam said tightly. "We aren't. I'm just saying, do you really think I'd have mentioned you and Eric to the manager if I didn't need to? The guy wasn't buying just how big that bomb threat was, until I mentioned it was clearly meant to hurt more than Eric's car."

"God forbid." I couldn't help myself.

Sam's exasperation was tangible. "You get my point. You saw how it sunk into him, when I said you were there--now they've got the cops on the scene, the car will be stripped, and they're putting aside the hotel security tape for reviewing by the local authority."

"Which would be…"

"Eric, yes." Sam nodded. "It is his area, after all."

I sighed and nestled back into the worn-down seat of the shabby truck. It smelled like Sam: a little bit of everything nice. "Fine, but just don't go saying that elsewhere, okay?"

My driving companion regarded me curiously. "Sure, but mind me asking a friendly question?"

No good ever comes of a "friendly question." "Yes, you already asked it. There's your answer. Hey, what time am I set to start my shift tonight?"

"7 and quit dodging." Sam reached over and squeezed my wrist lightly, before returning his hand to the wheel. "Sook, is something wrong with you and him?"

I adjusted my watch restlessly. "Nothing's wrong."

"Then why--I guess I don't understand." I stared out at the passing shops, but Sam didn't take the hint. "You deny you've got a relationship with this guy, but at the same time, you admit you were with him. Unless he's forcing--"

"He's not," I cut him off brutally. "And change the subject, please. My sex life is not open to discussion."

"Fine, fine. Just know I'm here, okay? I'm your friend, Sookie." He gave me his sweet smile and my heart lurched wistfully in response. Why couldn't it be this guy, who had done nothing but adore me? Who had told me, time and again, that he'd be there for me whenever I needed it? Who was as safe and comfortable as my own bed?

I looked out the window again. Instead of loyal Sam, I'd chosen--had I chosen? Or had it just happened?--to have some kind of weird, electric bond with a thousand-year-old vampire. I closed my eyes. I didn't know so much about him. Really, what did I know? Other than that the sex was beyond great? I remembered, to my dismay, the brush of his lips against my skin, the words he'd said, the words I'd said--

"Oh, God," I whispered.

Sam's head whipped around. "Sookie? What's the matter?"

"Nothing, just, um--nothing, sorry." I gave him a weak, fake smile. He didn't buy it at all, but he let me stew in privacy. How glad I was that he wasn't a telepath right now!

My brain was screaming one long "Oh, my God." The seat of my unease all morning long was flashing in front of my eyes as if on a neon sign. _I had told Eric I love him._ Granted, it was in the middle of sex, and people say stupid things in sex all of the time--but still. Images flashed through my head, of Eric looking at me as he joked about how I "talked" and how he wanted me to "talk" more; my gut clenched, remembering his strangely somber demeanor right before--well, we'd carried on in the sitting area. I bit my lip and kept staring out of the window, so that Sam couldn't see the _Oh, shit! _I was sure was written all over my face.

_I'd said to Eric that I love him_. What was he thinking? What the hell had _I _been thinking? Well, scratch that; I shifted slightly, knowing damned well what I was thinking. Or feeling, that is.

I'm sure I looked like a complete idiot for the rest of my ride with Sam, smiling my enormous nervous grin, pretending to laugh when he made a joke about the Elvis song on the radio. Hell, rather than a bomb going off in the Corvette, I felt like the bomb was in me. _Be strong, Stackhouse, be strong_. I dug out my cell and started firing off numbers--I called Bobby, so he could follow up on the handling of Eric's car, then left a message on Eric's phone. Normally, I'd wait till I was alone to leave a message, but somehow, Sam being there made it all the less…intimate. _Not that we were. Well, had been, maybe…oh, hell._

"Hiit'sSookielooktherewasabombontheCorvetteit'sfinenowBobbywillfillyouinokaybye," I rattled off, then clapped the cell shut, flipping the sound to silent. I wouldn't want any loud music to disturb Sam, of course.

Sam whistled softly next to me. "You sure know how to make a guy feel wanted, Sookie." He glanced over at me again. "Sure you don't want to fill me in on what's got you so spooked all of a sudden?" He caught my eye. "That'd be a 'no' then, I see."

Fortunately, Sam may be stubborn but he was smart enough to realize I wasn't going to break on this. He let me be quiet as we neared Bon Temps, and I managed to slip off into my house with little more than a friendly good-bye.

That left me alone in my head, however--Octavia and Amelia were out. And alone with my thoughts was definitely _not_ a place I wanted to be. I cleaned frantically--not that Amelia and Octavia were messy by any means, but I just had to keep moving. I was glad when it came time for my shift at Merlotte's--it gave me an excuse to keep on moving, not thinking, and definitely not paying attention to the cell phone that vibrated by my side.

Even Arlene noticed. "Who keeps calling you? Your phone keeps lighting up. Something wrong with Jason?" Her tone implied "again" and I couldn't fault her for that.

I grinned maniacally. "No, everything's fine. Telemarketer, I guess." I fled to the back before she could interrogate me further.

In the cold supply room, I flipped open the cell. Sure enough, there were two texts and two messages. The texts were both from Eric. First, apparently just after he'd risen: "I have dealt with the car. You are well?" Then, a bit later, another text: "Is your naked body missing mine?" I felt myself blush even in the half-light of the supply closet, hit "Clear," and went on to the voice mails. First, it was Pam, dutifully intoning, "He wants to talk to you. Call us." Then, about fifteen minutes later, his voice, a bit sharper than normal: "This is unusual. Where are you? We must talk." _Click_.

"Fine, Your Majesty," I muttered. Maybe I didn't want to talk. Hell, I didn't know what to say. Sure, maybe he just wanted to talk about his car and that whole almost getting it blown up thing--sure would raise his insurance rates, I figured. But I didn't want to get into the bull ring, so to speak, without being ready for any more references to those stupid words. Was he intending on holding it above my head?

I shook my head and rapidly punched a response text message into the phone. "No time to talk. I'm busy at work. Will call later." That ought to cool his heels for the moment.

I didn't call him back that night, and he didn't write me again--probably mad that I'd blown him off, I figured, but we both had things to deal with, I figured. I should be allowed a little leeway, given I'd almost been blown to smithereens, thanks to him.

It took me until the next day to figure out some plan of action. I needed some kind of relationship--God, was that what was going on? I shuddered--input, and I needed it now.

"Amelia!" I hissed, grabbing my roomie by the wrist as she sorted out the plates in the kitchen. "I need help in the worst way."

"Sure, what gives?"

We ended up plopped on the couch with our coffee, as I tried to work up to the question at hand. Amelia didn't help by her own opening: "You know Pam was looking for you last night, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know, I know, it's fine." It wasn't, of course.

Amelia's eyes narrowed. "This is about Tall, Blond, and Handsome, isn't it?"

"Amelia!"

She studied my face and crowed happily, "It is!" She looked around hurriedly. "Okay, wait a sec." I watched my roomie disappear back into the kitchen and re-emerge with a pint of ice cream and two spoons. "This requires ice cream. Pity we don't have Haagen-Daz," she added saucily. "I'm sure you like licking Scandinavian things."

"Amelia!" I threw a pillow at her and she dodged.

"Okay, okay." She got settled again and we dug into the ice cream. "Let's start with the obvious." Her head dropped down like a cat on the hunt. "Girl, you've _got_ to spill every detail. How was it?"

"It?" Shocked and flustered, I sounded as stupid as the question.

"Sex," she said matter-of-factly. "You bonked him from here to Sunday, right?"

"What!" I nearly dropped my spoon.

She just laughed at me. "It's not hard to see, Sookie. Besides, who _wouldn't_, in your shoes." She winked at me. "Heck, even I'd go for that." I don't know what she saw on my face, because she laughed again. "It was just an observation, hon! What, do you have a monopoly on every hot guy in Louisiana?"

"I wish I'd known that in high school!" I stuck out my tongue.

She laughed and set down her spoon. "Okay, okay, let's get to the good stuff. How big? Pam always hinted, but--"

"How--Amelia Broadway, I am _not_ sharing those kinds of details. And why are you interested in _that_, anyway?"

"Pam and I were talking, that's all--you know, about guys, our pasts, that kind of thing. She's done it all."

"You don't say." I wished Pam were around to hear me. She'd appreciate the understatement.

Amelia refused to be led off the path. She set her hands a considerable length apart and looked at me. "Pam said this was underestimating." I blinked, blushed, and looked away. "What, you can't tell me? Come on, give a girl something! We all want to know! I'd totally tell you about Tray--"

"I do not want to know, thanks." It was bad enough when I occasionally heard sounds I didn't want to hear. Being able to visualize things? Not what I wanted.

"Come on, I'm your best girl friend. And he's hardly going to care, if I reckon correctly. Pam said she'd suggested they live in a nudist colony before moving here." We both paused to consider that before I shook my head in exasperation.

"Fine, fine, Pam was right. He's a gracious plenty and then some. Happy?"

She whistled. "Not as happy as you should be. If I were in your shoes, girl--"

"Okay, enough." I tried desperately to steer the conversation back to where I wanted it to go. "Seriously, I need a little advice. Guy advice, you know." She nodded encouragingly--I tried not to notice the eagerness in her eyes. "Um…have you ever said anything during…um…you know, _sex_," I lowered my voice out of habit, as if Gran was going to walk into the room and box my ears for thinking about the subject, "that you didn't mean?"

Amelia almost choked on her coffee. "Hello, forgot anything, Sookie?" I followed her gaze to the abandoned bowl for Bob in his cat form. We both shuddered. Shrugging, Amelia turned back to me. "So, yeah, I have. What'd you say? Oh, God! Not--'_oh, Bill'_?" There was no mistaking the implications of her breathy exclamation.

"No!" I was scandalized. I did have limits.

" '_Oh, Quinn'_?"

"No!"

"Oh, my God, you did NOT. '_Oh, Sam'?" _

"NO!"

" '_Oh, Alci--' " _

"NO! Jesus, Amelia, you make me sound like the town whore!"

She was laughing too hard to respond right away--hell, she might have mentioned Calvin in the midst of her giggles--but she finally sobered up when I threatened to stomp off and end the girl-talk. "Okay, seriously. What _did_ you say?"

That was the hard part, saying it again, and not feeling that emotion, like a million champagne bubbles going off inside me, again. "I said--well, I think I told him I loved him."

Amelia did not look horrified at all. Instead, she just grinned at me. "And, and? What did he say?"

I adjusted my ponytail; it gave me an opportunity not to see her invading eyes. "Nothing--I mean--we weren't really having a conversation just then, if you know what I mean. But I think--I think he heard it." I looked over at her, watched her eyebrow arch reflectively. "He's made jokes about how much I talked, that kind of thing."

"So? What's the problem?" She swirled her spoon around in the air.

"What's not? I mean, what if--I'm not dealing with the most emotional guy, Amelia. What if--I mean, don't _normal_ guys--"--I avoided saying "living ones"--"--get freaked if you say that?"

She waved her hand artlessly. "Some do, some don't. But get back to you. You seriously think _Eric_ is going to bail on you because you yelled a bit during sex? _Eric_?" She sighed at my expression. "For someone who is a telepath, you can be pretty damn dumb about people, Sookie. Here's the truth: Even though Eric pretty much hates me--yes, he does! He always gives me that look as if he'd really wish I got another place, whenever he's here--"

"He does not!"

"He wants to get you alone and my being here is blocking him, you know that--anyway, it's pretty clear to everybody that he's got the hots for you big-time."

"And what if he's already had the hots. He's had the milk for free," I muttered into my palms, embarrassed. Everybody? Good grief, was the whole town sitting around talking about my sex life?

"You really are clueless, poor child. Look, you guys were together before, right?" I nodded behind my hands. "And he remembers it all now, right?" I nodded again, feeling the tips of my ears turn scarlet; I remembered the voice messages he'd begun leaving after the incident in which he recovered his memory. Oh, yes, he remembered. In detail. "And he's still been stuck on you. I doubt he's going to get cold feet--well, colder feet, I guess--just because you blurted out some stuff in sex. Besides," she paused theatrically, grinning smugly over her coffee mug at me. "Who knows, maybe he wants it to be true."

"Oh, God, don't start." I kept my eyes closed to avoid seeing her face, and my own embarrassment reflected there. "I already don't know what to call him. Sam asked if he's my boyfriend."

"No, he's your _lover_." Amelia drew out the word with an unholy relish. Witch.


	30. Chapter 30

"No, he's your _lover_." Amelia drew out the word with an unholy relish. Witch.

The word of the day was "zen," so I was resolved to be calm and peaceful about all stressful things (like vamps with whom I'd--well, best not to think about that) as I went about my evening and through the next day. My cell was fortunately silent, which helped me keep my equilibrium.

The only time my peace was disrupted was when I heard a knock on the door, followed by a loud bellow of "SOOK! IT'S ME!" I groaned and set aside the laundry I'd been folding--if Jason came calling, so too would some kind of trouble. But at least, I reminded myself as I trudged down the steps, it was a different kind of trouble than the one I'd been anticipating.

He was just coming out of the kitchen as I came down the steps, with a box in his hand. "Is that---"

"Yeah, I ran out of butter, didn't feel like running to the store, you know." Jason smiled, as if raiding other people's refrigerators was perfectly normal for him. And, truth be told, it was.

I sighed and shoved my hair back. The truce between us was fragile enough without a blow-up over something Jason would never understand. "Well, fine, just check the expiration date, I don't go through it that fast."

"Thanks, but aren't you going to say hello to your friend?" He nodded to the side and I froze, literally froze.

"Why, hello, Sookie," Pam stood there, smiling indulgently. Given her Dear Abby fascination, she probably loved watching family dysfunction play out right in front of her.

"This pretty lady was just coming up to see you when I was, you know." Jason beamed at her (full wattage) and then at me (a split-second grin). "I asked Miss Pam if she wasn't looking for the wrong Stackhouse. Maybe she'd forgotten me." He winked at Pam, whose smile twisted ever-so-slightly. It was a bit like looking at a mouse playing on a tiger's paw. Sooner or later, those jaws are going to snap.

"I could never forget your face," she murmured simply, and Jason's smile grew broader.

"I never knew any vamps before you guys," he confided. "Now I see why Sook's always running with them dead guy boyfriends of hers--"

"_Jason!" _

"Oh, excuse me, no offense meant, ma'am, I meant, um, them 'life-challenged' types, like the newsfolks say, but you're quite something." His teeth shone again. Jason paid good money for three things in life: his truck, his beer, and his teeth.

"I am indeed." Pam's smile exposed just as much teeth as Jason's, but it was more Cheshire cat than child on Christmas morning.

"Now if you ladies'll excuse me, I've got to be on my way." He waved the box in the air. "Got to feed these muscles." He made a bicep twitch, for Pam's benefit, I guess. "Talk to you later, sis!"

And that's how he left me alone with Pam. _Traitor_, I thought. Not that I wouldn't have invited her in, but it sure sucked--no pun intended--that my own brother was the one to let the enemy past the gate.

"Does your brother often take your groceries?" Pam interrupted my thoughts.

"He's not one for shopping." There was no need to point out all of the oil in the garage had been emptied, and not into my car.

"I see." Her tone clearly implied she did not, but that's Pam for you. She saw me glance around, frantic for a segue of some kind, and lifted an eyebrow. "Don't ask me about the weather or some such bullshit. We all know why I'm here."

"We do? And here I thought you were with Jason," I added in a lower tone, a touch snidely. In my defense, I was as at least heating her up a True Blood, so some of my manners were still in place, at any rate.

"Don't give me any ideas." Pam was now leaning in the doorframe, watching me coolly.

"So…why are you here?" I thrust the bottle out to her.

"To guard you, of course."

If I'd been the one drinking, I'd have choked. Instead, I just goggled at her.

"Really, Sookie, it's hardly surprising. Your house has been under our surveillance for some time now." I vaguely remembered Eric putting my house under watch after the attempt on Pam's house. "It's my turn and I did not care to waste my time in the woods when I could sit here." She indicated the couch, where I'd led her.

"Oh. Well, um, thank you. I really appreciate you guys trying to keep my place safe. And me, of course." Granted, most of the danger I was in was because of "those guys," but I still wanted to acknowledge the effort. I sighed with relief and settled deeper into the cushions. At least we weren't going to have any other Big Deep Serious conversations.

Pam tipped her head in response. "You are quite welcome. I am happy to guard you. Just as my master is happy to have sex with you. Why have you not called him back?"

I couldn't even protest; I just stared at her. She stared back. Vamps, not having to blink, always win at staring wars and this was no exception. I looked away, still horrified to my core.

"He--he--"

"_He_ has said nothing." She took a swig of her blood. "He does not 'kiss and tell,' as you mortals so quaintly describe it. The last time he ever named names was when you asked him in the bar about those fangbangers, one of the first nights you were there." She waved a hand in memory. "I was so very surprised he chose to answer you. That's when I knew he was fascinated by you."

"Then--"

"I'm a woman," she responded, curtly and crisply. "It is not so hard to see what has happened. He came back from the Bastet quite a _contented _vampire." Her eyebrow told me she had wanted to use another word, but had chosen a milder one for my benefit. "Really, Sookie, one day you must tell me what you do, to so please him."

I started to rise. "I'm not having--"

"Did I tell you I have your brother's number?" Pam's voice was sweet as poison. "He gave it to me."

I sat down right fast. "Are you blackmailing me with my brother?"

"No." Pam sat her bottle down with a _clink_. "I am just _reminding _you that it is our mutual benefit to have this conversation, whether you like it or not." She held up a well-manicured hand. "I will not ask for details, Sookie, so don't fret about that. I understand you are a modest woman." I sat back grimly. "And I am on your side. He wanted to come here tonight, do you know that?" I flipped to check the side window--no taunting white face there. "I told him not to, that you were clearly having your womanly problems and it was not the time to come." I didn't know what bothered me more: Pam strong-arming me into this discussion, or the fact she and Eric had apparently sat around chatting about my period. "He's not afraid of the blood, of course. He'd quite happily help you with that."

"Eww! Pam, that is _disgusting!_"

"You are such a child." She waved a hand. "But he, like most men, assumes women are prone to unreasonable emotional distress in such a time." She grinned, displaying full fangs. "I was never such a woman, I promise you." Somehow, I could believe that. "And so he was willing to wait before coming here, and so I was able to come instead."

"Come to blackmail me, you mean?"

She shook her head. "Absolutely not. Eric would be furious with me if I did such a thing."

"Then what do you call--"

"Motivation." She smiled. "To hear me out. No more than that."

"I'm listening." I bent forward and leaned my chin into my palms.

"My master was quite clearly _pleased_ after he came back from the Bastet. So was I." At my look, she added, "I made $100 off his pleasure. We had a pool at Fangtasia, you know. Felicia did not think you would submit to his charms."

"You bet on whether we'd--" I couldn't even get the rest of the words out.

She leveled a look at me. "Why not? Your little dance has been driving us up the wall for some time now. That is what I have been trying to impress on you: this game you play with Eric affects more than you, or him."

I could hear the sarcasm in my voice. "So he beats you all up if we don't fall into bed every night, that's what you're saying."

She wasn't offended at all; she threw her head back and laughed. "No, I'd much rather that! No," she added, touching a finger to her eyes to check her mascara, "he just sulks. It is not pleasant."

"So you want me to sleep with him non-stop just so he'll be 'pleasant' in the bar."

"Oh, he'd be more than pleasant then. I have faith in you." She smirked. "No, what I want is that you cease these games, such as this not-calling bullshit." She caught my eye reprovingly. "Why on earth are you not calling Fangtasia? He was certain there was something wrong and meant to come, until I told him you were having your cycle and would hardly welcome him."

"Thanks, Pam," I croaked from behind my hands. They were probably as red as my face.

"Of course," she responded carelessly. "He does not do well with emotion, as I do." I didn't have the heart to puncture that particular dream. "So now I am here, and I ask you again, why haven't you called us? You are no coward." She leaned forward and one of my hands was pulled from my face. "What is this problem you suddenly have?"

I gnawed my lip. I wasn't about to tell Pam anything along the lines of what I'd told Amelia; at least Amelia wasn't answerable to Eric. "I just wasn't ready to have any long discussions, that's all."

"You weren't."

"No, I wasn't." I stared firmly back.

"Then it is in the past, and we will go." Pam's hand shot out and latched around my own wrist.

"What? You can't just kidnap me!"

She rotated on her loafers to face me. "Do you want him to show up at your house tomorrow? Then you'd better come and settle this now."

And that's how I got dragged off to Fangtasia. I nearly pitched a fit, but then I realized, with a good dose of Pam's "encouragement" ("You are not a fool, why act like it?") that putting off the inevitable wasn't going to help matters any. Sure, I was biting my finger as Pam floored it to Shreveport in her Pacifica ("I don't fly with these shoes on. They're far too precious to lose"), but in the end, I reasoned, I'd be better off.

And, of course, I wouldn't have a vamp kidnapper practically gloating in the seat next to me. She was practically smiling, for heaven's sakes. I shot her a cautious look. "Don't get too worked up now, Pam."

She grinned--well, more like, _fanged_ at me. "He will be pleased you are present."

"I said, don't get too excited." I wished I could say the same for myself. My heart was beating a steady drumbeat as Pam whipped into the Fangtasia lot, ripped open my door in a blur, and hauled me into the bar. I only was allowed to walk when we'd entered the bar itself; I suppose my strides were too slow for her.

The bar was hopping and I rubbed my palms nervously against the nice jeans Pam had "allowed" me to change into. My ratty sweatpants were deemed "unfit," and I'd been sent to my room for a wardrobe change. Pam and I had fought over the top--I wanted a soft pink sweater, whereas she, in some fit of vampire insanity, wanted me to put on some backless plunging glittery halter top I hadn't worn since high school. I couldn't even wear a bra with the thing, and she wanted me to wear it in public? Much to her disappointment, I put my foot down.

Even though I had won the war and kept my sweater, I still wished I'd visited the tanning bed that day. I was feeling--well, one can't really say "pale" when hanging out around vamps, but still. Not my usual color, anyway.

_Not like you can see much in this light anyway_, I thought, glancing around the neon bar signs and low-hanging lamps around the bar. The place wasn't designed for high visibility.

Unless you were Eric, of course, whom I spotted in his special booth. He wasn't working had at being on "floor duty"; no fancy dress tonight, he was just wearing a blank tank and some dark pants, from what I could see. From my spot in the doorway, I studied his profile--head tilted, drumming his fingers against the table-top, a sure sign of boredom, and half-listening to one of the Area vamps paying court--a newcomer to Shreveport, I figured, since I'd never seen that vamp. He even appeared to indiscreetly check his watch at one point.

"See?" My kidnapper's voice was at my ear. "He would never have put up with that shit before."

"How awful," I retorted. "Didn't I just see this on an ad for the animal shelters?" But I half-grinned as I said it, hearing Pam snort behind me.

I don't know what it was--my voice, Pam's laugh, my presence through the bond--hell, maybe just the perfume I'd frantically dabbed on before Pam hauled me away---but that was all it took. The blond mane of hair snapped to the side and all I could see were a pair of sapphire eyes pinning me down. It took a long second, and then his mouth turned up at the corner, and his fingers lifted to crook at me.

"Go to him!" Pam hissed. She even gave me an extra "nudge" (as in, a hefty push), to get me moving.

Caught between falling flat on my face and stepping forward, I started walking. "I will, Your Majesty," I still muttered. From the click behind me, it seemed Pam was walking with me--probably to make sure I didn't bolt. My heart was going into overdrive as I saw Eric, smirking, rise from the table and reach his hand out to me in a welcoming gesture.

"This is an unexpected delight. Come, sit, join me."

I swayed right before that inviting hand, flicking my gaze between his challenging eyes and the palm waiting for mine. My shields weren't exactly down, so some of the fangbangers' thoughts penetrated mine:

_Damn, ass on that boy…Thank God for Scandinavia. _

_Lucky bitch! Gah, I'd like to take a bite of one of those arms._

_Get it, girl! If I can't get a piece of that, somebody better._

_Figures. Gay or taken, every time. _

"I thought I should say--" I began hesitantly, before a sudden body connected with my back. "Ooof!" exploded from my lips inelegantly, as I was driven forward, into a wall of muscle and flesh, with broad arms that roped around me, securing me firmly against him.

"Oh, sorry!" I heard a girl squeak behind me.

"Bloody whore! Watch your step!" Pam snarled. I almost believed her.

"--, um, hello?" I trailed off, looking up as my chin rested on his sternum. The scent of his bare skin enveloped me.

His eyes glittered down at me. "I didn't think you were the type to throw yourself at me."

"You wish." I squirmed and tried to break away, but he just grinned. Oh, God. There went the bubbly feelings again. Even my toes were tingling. Curling, even.

"Perhaps I do." His eyebrow slid up. "Care to go to my office?"

I knew what I felt like when we were pressed together like this, and it wasn't talking. That wouldn't help things any.

"Maybe just here?" I heard a disappointed female groan behind us. I wished Pam were a telepath, just so I could tell her just what my opinion of her reaction was.

He raised his other eyebrow, looked at me contemplatively, then dropped his arms. "Very well. Have a seat." He gestured to his booth, so I slid in. Rather than take the other side, he slid in right next to me. He glanced over at the bar, but even before we were ensconced in our seats, a nervous waitress was sliding a gin and tonic in front of me.

"Thanks." I am sure my grin was the biggest in my life. I was as nervous as that waitress. I peeked at Eric, to my side. He was just watching me, his poker-mask well in place. "Sooo….how's the car?"

"Very well, thank you." He swept his gaze around the bar. "The squad had no problem removing the bomb device and no damage was done to the Corvette."

"I'm glad, I mean, I'm so sorry they threatened your car, Eric."

"So will they be." He grinned; it was not a happy smile. "They threatened too many things of mine when they did that."

I chose not to follow up on that point. "So….any clues?"

"My people are working on it." I wanted to ask him what "people" he meant, since I'd met most of his workers, but then again, maybe I didn't want to know. "We hope to have some information soon."

"Okay." I fiddled with my napkin, and then suddenly felt a weight on my shoulders. Eric had slung his arm around me, and his fingers were toying with the arm of my sweater. He was still looking carefully around the bar, not at me.

The music quality shifted; I saw they'd added a live singer to the dj's set. _"We belong to the night, we belong to the thunder…" _wailed a vampire with fluorescent jelly bracelets on her arms.

"80s night. It was an idea of Pam's," Eric murmured into my ear.

"No 1500s night?" I snarked back and felt Eric's chest shake with a laugh next to me.

"No, nobody wants to wear those damn tights again."

I smiled, remembering some pink lycra. "As I recall, you have some on hand."

"Not their kind. They were as scratchy as hell." Since vampires scratch more out of habit than requirement, that was a bit of an overstatement.

"Poor boy. It must've been so hard for you."

"Oh, yes. So very hard," he murmured into my hair, and beneath the table, he took my hand and led it across his thigh. I refused to go further than that, though, and just squeezed the muscle there.

"Be good."

His leg rubbed slowly against mine and his voice dropped several notes. "Am I not always?"

Flushed, I looked away.

"I was so _disappointed_ not to hear from you right away…" he was murmuring into my hair again. It was a bit like being nuzzled by a very large panther. "You must have missed me greatly."

I snorted. "Why would I miss your bullshit?"

Whatever he was going to say was cut off, because I suddenly felt a tension ripple through him, and his head snapped over to find Pam, making an urgent hand gesture. Eric's mouth settled into a grim line. "Lovely. And not just you, my dear," he said half-heartedly. Eric dropping an opportunity to flirt? Something was up here.

"What's wrong?"

"We've got company," he sighed, but he didn't take his arm off my shoulders I noticed. "It'll be fine."

"What?"

A dark figure was making its way across the bar to us, eluding Pam's apparent attempt to bypass him. I sucked in an unhappy breath. A very, very familiar voice filtered down to me as he approached. "I have the results you wanted, Eric." His mouth tightened. "Sookie."

Reluctantly, I looked up at the eyes of my first love. "Bill."


	31. Chapter 31

Reluctantly, I looked up at the eyes of my first love. "Bill."

Vamps have great poker faces, so if he had a problem meeting my eyes, his expression didn't show. Mine probably did; I was flinching inside, as if somebody had just pressed on an open wound on me. Which, I guess, is what was happening. And I was grinning my special-occasion nervous smile, the kind one wears when the Old Boyfriend meets up with the New….Whatever, the kind that is also labeled "crazy woman ahead!"

"I hope you are well." Bill's cool voice rippled into my consciousness. I was reminded of the first time we'd met, how wonderful that voice was to me, promising me a center of stillness in a hostile world.

I blinked rapidly. "I am fine, thank you. And yourself?"

"He's here at my request." Eric's voice drew me up shortly, breaking the spell that had woven itself around Bill and myself. The arm slung over my shoulder tightened ever-so-subtly. "Bill, you said you had results?"

"Yes." Bill's tone was just as curt as Eric's.

"To my office, then." With that, Eric slid out of the booth, unfolding himself to his full six-foot-four height. And he did an unusual thing: rather than storming off to his office and expecting us, the faithful minions, to follow, he just stood there, apparently waiting for me to slide out of the booth, too. Normally, Eric's not the kind for gallantry--he'd laugh his head off if you suggested he behave like a gentleman, and any efforts he made toward chivalry tended to come off as so obvious as to feel staged; they tended to make you aware that he was having very unchivalrous thoughts about you.

But now Eric stood there, his hand out to assist me as I slid out of the booth. It took me a second to even realize what he was doing, but nobody noticed my slowness, I realized--Eric and Bill were too busy staring each other down. Bill, still standing just where he was before, had apparently been delaying his exit to catch up with me, too.

He didn't get much of a chance--Eric had my hand as I stood up, and he kept a hand on me as he guided me toward his office. "Guided" in the sense of hustled along--even without his particular speed as a Supe, Eric's long legs meant his "slow" walk had me walking double-time to keep pace with him. I was too frozen from the return of Bill to yell at him for either the speed-walking or keeping his hands on me. Not that he was hurting me, of course, but I am my own woman.

My own woman ended up sitting in a chair parked next to Eric's desk. I tried to avoid being dragged further into the testosterone fest emerging between Bill and Eric, but Pam had thoughtfully commandeered a chair ahead of us, leaving three remaining: Eric's giant desk chair (and for some reason, I couldn't see myself bumping Eric from his own seat), a chair that had materialized to its side, and a chair across the desk from Eric. If Bill didn't want to sit within hand-holding range of Eric, he'd want the seat across the desk, leaving me…yup, Princess Leia tied up to her own Jabba the Fanged.

"You will sit next to me, of course, Sookie," said my very own Captain Obvious. I hear Bill hiss irritably across the room.

"Whatever." Arlene's kids had taught me that particular come-back and all of its uses.

"You could have this chair, Sookie. I do not mind standing," Bill said. Of course.

Pam, as ever, was not one for small-talk. "Why couldn't you just stay in South America, riding burros and doing whatever the hell else it is you do?"

"I will not abandon what is _mine_," he shot back, displaying full fang. I had a sinking feeling he wasn't talking about his family house, which is located just across the cemetery from mine.

"_Was_ yours," Pam taunted back.

Bill shook his head sharply. "I think not! She will--" Oh, hell. I bit my lip and closed my eyes--cowardly, yes, but at the moment, I really did not want to enter this conversation. I just wanted it to go away, so I could pretend I'd never witnessed this.

"Enough." Eric's one word, spoken with the softness of the Hiroshima bomb tumbling into the air, made my eyes pop open. Bill and Pam were both standing with teeth out, but they stepped back and were taking their seats, eyeing each other balefully. Clearly, they were off each others' Christmas card list.

"The results, Compton?" Eric's voice was quiet as thunder in the distance.

"I have researched the materials and parts used for the bomb, as you asked." Bill's voice was starting to have that particular tone--well, it's hard to say a dead guy could be "perky," but he did get quite a rush whenever he'd an excuse to play around on his computer.

I heard fingers drumming on the desk next to me. "And?"

"Local."

"_How_ local?"

"In state. I can't bring it down to a smaller area, unfortunately. Some of the device could be bought anywhere from here to New Orleans." Now Bill sounded slightly petulant. He hated it when you pointed out the fallibility (my word of the day) of his research.

Eric just nodded. "Any word on the maker?" He leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head thoughtfully.

I turned my face away from the interesting ripples in his shirt. "The maker?"

"Who put the device together," Bill explained. I saw the corner of his mouth flip up; for Bill, that was pretty much a smile. He directed his attention again to Eric. "It appeared to be mostly human-made. I didn't see signs of anything more than mortal tools used to make the bomb--no use of strength, for example, on the device."

"But that doesn't mean a Supe _didn't_ do it," I objected, and they looked as one at me.

"Why the fuck would we be using _human_ tools?" Pam snarled. I guess I wouldn't be giving her a ladies' tool-kit for Christmas.

"But you can, can't you?" I pointed out. Bill got my point and nodded, but then, he'd always been Mr. Fix It. I looked over to Eric, who seemed to be in his own thoughts.

"I see your position," he finally answered. "Perhaps it was a human, perhaps one of our own."

"So we are where we were before. You interrupted our night for this? Pathetic." Well, wasn't Pam in a good mood tonight.

The source of her anger, Bill, folded his arms over his chest defensively. "I did what Eric asked." I got the distinct impression he'd not have been so generous for Pam. He squared off his jaw and focused hard on Eric. There's no love lost there, but Bill knows, as I do, that he's got to be polite to Eric, since Eric out-ranks him in the vamp hierarchy. Bill's big on tradition and listening to your elders. I should know. I blinked rapidly and looked away.

"I did find one clue." Now Bill smiled and his fangs were out; for Bill, that was a sign of excitement. "It was quite a piece of work."

"You are," muttered Pam on my right.

Eric, who had been so quiet, now spoke up. His voice was harsh and hard. "You've been wasting my time, Compton. Get to the point before I decide to be less than accommodating."

"There was a print on the plastic," Bill blurted out.

"A print?" Pam and I spoke in stereo.

I shook my head and spoke again. "A fingerprint, you mean?"

"Yes." Bill started moving his hands, a sure sign of rising excitement. "There was a ring finger press on the plastic of the bomb." He turned back to Eric. "The clay that acts as a--"

"I know how to make a bomb." Eric's lip curled. If he really did or didn't, I didn't want to know. "Get on with it. Whose was it?"

"I entered the police databases--"--he looked around as if expecting the vamps to applaud this technical mastery. Since I understood this to be something of a computer geek accomplishment, I mimed applause, and Bill continued on. "Then I compared this print to known offenders. I found it associated with a local, over in Cook County." He pulled a sheet of paper, folded up neatly, from his pocket, and slid it over to Eric. "This is the man."

I leaned over to peek at the sheet, but I didn't need to--Eric glanced at it, then handed it over to me. Damp vamp speed senses. Much more slowly, I read it, tilting the page so that Pam could see, too.

"Langdon Bettany," the sheet said in a big, all-caps font, with a picture of a white man next to it. He looked to be in his upper thirties--the kind of guy who was a muscle-bound football player in high school and a soft-bellied dad in his prime years. I knew the type a lot--they tended to congregate at Merlotte's on big sports nights. I could almost guess what beer he'd order.

I ran my eyes down the rest of the information. I didn't think this could all be from the police--no doubt Bill had worked his voodoo computer skills to add these details. Langdon had apparently gone to a local school and had done so-so; he'd been on the football team (no doubt a great pride to his family), but he'd gotten kicked off the squad for bad grades. (Lower than the average acceptable jock score, I figured, since none of the jocks at my school were ever college material.) He'd had a variety of small jobs--construction, cleaning, warehouse stuff--but apparently they hadn't met his needs, because he'd started a career in petty criminal activities--small thefts, bad checks, that kind of thing. I bit my lip and re-read the list of his charges thoroughly--nothing at all to indicate he was some kind of chemical genius who would be whipping up bombs in his spare time. Let alone driving here to plant one on Eric's car, for no motive that I could see.

"Why on earth would he want anything to do with you?" I asked Eric.

"I do not know." Eric looked put-out that the alleged bomber was someone who looked so pathetic. He grinned, but not happily. "But he will not want anything to do with me when I meet him."

"We should not assume anything," Bill cautioned, and Eric's head jerked toward him.

"We?"

"You, then." Bill's arms were folded up again. Yup, now he was sulking, too. "The point remains, all I can tell you is that man's finger was on the plastic at some point. When, where, why--I do not know."

"It bears investigation." Eric tapped this lip thoughtfully with the sheet of paper. Abruptly, he shifted in his chair, sliding the sheet of paper into his desk. "We will talk of this later. You are excused," he said, apparently to nobody, but Pam got up and left, and Bill was rising, too, although unhappily.

"Don't leave, Bill!" I heard myself exclaim, and both men looked at me. I tried to avoid looking at either, and finally I turned to Eric. "Could I--could I talk to you a moment?" I tried to tilt my head subtly in Bill's direction, although I probably just looked like I had a crick in my neck.

Eric might have caught my drift, nonetheless. His eyes flashed at me, then Bill. "Out, Compton. Stay in the bar, if I need you."

Bill floated out without saying a word, although I felt him watching me with each second until the door clicked shut. The sound of the metal sliding together in the bolt seemed to break a spell--I could breathe, and lift my head to look at Eric, who was scratching some notes on his deskpad and damn near punching right through the paper.

"I wanted to talk to you," I fumbled.

"Speak." His voice, normally warm and delightfully prone to rumbles, was studiously neutral. His body wasn't. Eric was still stabbing at his yellow legal pad. I craned my desk. Was he actually doing the bar schedule now, of all times?

"You don't seem to be listening."

"I have obligations to all of my underlings. Speak your piece." He made a slight motion with his fingers, either to start me talking or to indicate I could speak and go.

"Are you calling me an underling?"

"Anyone to whom I have obligations is such," he said stonily. That was it for me. I have my pride.

"Up your obligations! I don't know why you're getting all shirty with me, but you can just quit that right now, Eric Northman, because I'm not dealing with that kind of bullshit."

Eric paused for a long moment and stared down at his papers. Frustrated, I plowed on. "I don't get what's biting your butt all of a sudden. I was trying to be considerate of you and ask if you'd mind if I talked to Bill privately, but now I see you don't care, since you obviously don't want--want--" I stumbled and trying to think of a suitable word. I gave up with a sigh. "This," I finally choked out, waving a hand back and forth between us, and dashing my free hand against my suddenly stinging eyes.

"This." I looked up through my hot eyes to see Eric's hand mimicking my gestures. He was sitting back in his chair, and a new light of amusement was in his blue eyes. "What is…this?"

"You know what I mean." I glared at a little desk statue he had of a Viking ship. I was not going to go any further, I decided. If he just wanted to jerk my chain--or anything else--that was all. I wasn't going to humiliate myself. "Or maybe you don't care. Forget it, then. Forget everything." Blinking rapidly, because I was not about to let him see anything, I grabbed my bag and made for the door.

Only to find myself up against the wall, my legs suddenly wrapped around a Viking waist. Eric had scooped me up, one arm beneath my backside, the other turning my face to his. And what a face it was--glowing white, and something terribly urgent pulsing in the blue of his eyes. Instinctively, I caught my breath and held very still as he stared at me for a fraction of a second, and then his mouth clamped down on me.

I've been kissed a lot by Eric--tender kisses, flirtatious kisses, passionate kisses that left me reeling for air and very happy for it. This was something entirely different than any kiss he'd ever given me standing up, something wild and abandoned, that made me recall all of the times we'd clung together in the dark, whispering heated words, and his shining eyes had loomed over mine. His tongue caressed mine as our mouths moved hotly together, my legs tightening further against his strong form. I felt him moan against me as our lips and bodies ground together, my hands helplessly winding their way into his hair, his free hand desperately gripping at the back of my head.

When he broke for me to breathe, he seemed to need a moment himself. His face was wet with my tears; his eyes did not leave mine as I absently brushed the wetness from his skin. He moved forward again, not blinking, and our lips brushed with all of the gentleness of two rose petals being drawn together. I shivered slightly against him, but not from cold, as he studied me, as if I held some great mystery for him.

"No."

"No?" I blinked.

"I do not forget."

I could feel the champagne-bubble eruption pressing on me again, and something else, something enormous, bearing down against us. My heart started to march not double, but triple-time, in fear.

"You fear me," said its predator.

"No," I whispered.

"No," he murmured, and kissed me again as he set me on his feet, his hands coming up to cup the lines of my jaw as if my face were some sacred jewel in his palms.

He drew back with an unreadable expression. "You wish to speak to Compton?"

I shivered again, suddenly feeling cold. "Yes, I need to…Trust me?" I caught his eye. It was dark and flashing.

"That's crazy," he said with a sudden wink, and just like that, I was in a chair, and he'd gone.


	32. Chapter 32

He drew back with an unreadable expression. "You wish to speak to Compton?"

I shivered again, suddenly feeling cold. "Yes, I need to…Trust me?" I caught his eye. It was dark and flashing.

"That's crazy," he said with a sudden wink, and just like that, I was in a chair, and he'd gone.

I sat there, hugging myself and wiping my cheeks, for a brief moment, but I wasn't ready for a pity-party just yet. Even though, I reminded myself, I was well overdue one. I sighed and got to my feet, restlessly prowling alongside Eric's desk. I had meant just to stretch my legs and work off a little nervous energy, but I still caught some glimpse of the items in Eric's overflowing "in" box, like some receipts and a battered _Playboy_ magazine.

"What a surprise," I said out loud.

"What surprise?" Bill asked behind me, and I stifled a shriek.

"Nothing, nothing," I muttered, but Bill had angled his head around me and I saw him stiffen up.

"I am sorry for his…ways, Sookie." That was why Gran had always liked Bill and I did, too; he did try to put things in the classiest way possible.

But I couldn't let this line of thought go on, or Bill would take advantage of the moment, I saw. Already, he was hovering a little too close to me, with his anxious "I'm Just Here to Help/Screw You" expression on. I rubbed my hands briskly on my thighs and rallied my nervous spirits. "There's nothing to apologize for--if you think I haven't seen that stuff before, remember, I live with Jason." Actually, Jason was too cheap to send away for anything, but I had developed a sixth sense about borrowing any DVDs from him without checking to be sure the correct DVD was in the box first. What can I say? I know my brother.

Bill snorted softly and just looked skeptical. "You deserve better."

I gripped the back of a chair and tried not to bite my tongue off. Oh, yes, I did deserve better. I fought back memories of one of the worst nights of my life, when I'd staggered about New Orleans in a state of devastation. I deserved better, all right.

Perhaps seeing my expression, Bill hurried onwards. "Why did you want to see me?"

Before he could touch me, I stepped back and took a seat again in the chair. "I wanted…" I bit my lip. I shook my head; this was no time to be beating about the bushes. "Bill, is this going to be weird?"

He looked at me steadily. I could tell he knew what I was saying, but he didn't want to take it in. Instead, he came over and took a chair by me. "What do you mean?"

I sighed and felt myself brace. "I want to get things straight here. I don't mean to be unclear." He started to open his mouth and I held up a hand to ward him off. "I'm--" I sucked in a breath, then plunged forward. "I'm with somebody."

"Eric." Bill's cool voice barely rippled over the name.

"Yes." I twisted my hands. "It's not, um, official or anything." Well, unless one counted nights of torrid sex, but I didn't want to bring that up with Bill. I shook my head at my own chattiness. I didn't know why I was telling Bill this when I'd hardly had a "relationship" discussion with Eric himself, but I couldn't stand this sense of being torn in two any longer. "But I don't want this to be weird, or uncomfortable."

Bill just kept looking at me steadily. I guess I was lucky he hadn't burst out laughing. "You are an incredibly good woman," he just said.

For the umpteenth time, I wished I could peer into a vampire's mind just on command. It would be helpful in cases like this, when Bill's blank face told me nothing. What did he mean? This was the part I feared. Was he going to dramatically run off to the sun, grab a stake and go after Eric, or just go looking for some deranged vampire bitch in need of a minion?

"I will respect your wishes," he finally said. "I thank you for your consideration." He started to rise and I grabbed his hand, jumping to my feet too.

"I'm so sorry--"

He held me away from him, shaking his head. "Don't be. I will be fine." He leaned forward and brushed a kiss against my forehead. What was it with Bill and Eric, that they both wanted to kiss me on the same nights? Was I the neighborhood fire hydrant? "Be well, Sookie. If you need me, I am always your friend." He nodded at me as I gave him a watery smile, and then--ever Bill, ever thoughtful--just left.

Well, that had gone better than I'd expected. I took a deep breath and wiped off my face. I glanced around the room, somewhat surprised Eric didn't have a handy mirror around.

The door whipped open and suddenly, Pam was there, her fangs fully out. "Did you finally ditch the sad sack?"

"Pam!" I scolded her. "You know we were already broken up."

"Oh, I know." She gave me a once-over. "Are you leaking again?"

"Thanks, Pam, for your concern." I straightened my back and my outfit proudly. Pam made no comment, lounging against one of the cabinets and watching my grooming efforts with the same regard as watching QVC late at night. The only move she made was when I started toward the door.

"He's out in the bar," she objected.

I gave her a clueless look. "So?"

Pam stayed in the doorway, frowning. "This is better if you'd like _private_ conversations."

"Thank you, but the bar will do fine," I glared at her and she finally moved aside, frowning disapprovingly. Clearly, I was not producing enough angst for Pam's enjoyment tonight.

I headed back to the main floor, dodging running waitresses with my usual Merlotte's experience.

Eric, I saw, was back at his booth, watching some dancers on the floor moodily. His eye caught mine, and he rose. I thought he was making room for me, but instead he grabbed me by the hand and drew me to the dance floor.

I was more than a bit surprised by this, but I wasn't going to turn down a gift like this. I like dancing a lot, of course, and while the Fangtasia tunes aren't always on my top 10 list, they generally had a good beat. Plus, they were loud enough that I didn't feel compelled to try to talk to Eric. He didn't seem in the chatty mood, either--he didn't say anything at all to me, just let me bounce along next to his body, listening to the music and trying to avoid getting knocked over when Eric was excessively energetic. (This is one of the unlisted hazards of dancing with a partner much bigger than yourself, I've found, from dancing with Eric--it's way too easy for him to knock somebody over just by moving a bit too exuberantly. Those on the Fangtasia dance floor seemed to understand this, as they gave us wide berth.)

Dancing is great for working off negative emotions, I've found, and it worked this time, as always. I found myself smiling more than once, caught myself allowing Eric, smirking for all he was worth, a bit of dirty dancing, and even heard myself laugh out right at the most recent 80s night karaoke star belting out "I Love the Night Life" on the little stage above us. I only stopped when I half-fell, winded, against Eric, and he stopped as well, laughing a bit, too.

"Tired?"

I started to protest, but then I remembered I had to work tomorrow, and I'd hardly be in good shape for a long shift if I stayed in Shreveport until Last (Human) Call. "Not really, but I have to go to bed. Alone," I added quickly.

"What a shame," he murmured, running a hand down my back.

I ducked away from that hand, knowing all it could do. "I have to go find Pam, though--she drove me here--" I turned to look for her, and spotted her rolling her eyes at a herd of frat boys who appeared to be trying to buy her drinks. It was like watching a bunch of extremely annoying mice push a bowl of water before a cat. I shook my head at their cluelessness. "I guess I should go help her--"

"Won't be necessary." Eric's hands closed around my sides as he drew me back up against him. I could hear him at my ear and fought desperately against the urge to just melt backwards into him. "Don't deny her her fun." Before I could ponder the meaning of that, he squeezed me slightly again. "And I will drive you home myself." He nodded to the bartender just once, and I found myself turned towards the back room before I could object. Even Pam was no use--when I looked back, hoping she'd see me and save me, she just smiled and mimed a golf clap.

So helpful, that Pam.

Eric pushed the outside door open with a big clang--subtlety was not the vampire way, I knew. I followed him out into the employee parking, and promptly froze.

"Where's your car?"

Eric was not as distressed as I was, envisioning car thieves being pulled limb from limb within the next hours. "At the shop still. I have a rental." He said the word with disgust. I felt bad for the Hertz people, having to deal with him.

"So what'd you get?" Stifling my giggles, I imagined the last-on-the-lot Neon, some tiny car which could never hold all of Eric.

Eric waved at a darkened corner of the lot, and then hit the buttons on his keychain to light up the vehicle. "That." He walked up to it with a distinct air of pride. "It is a good disguise, isn't it? It is clearly not the Corvette. If anyone was looking for my car, he would not know."

No, it was not another Corvette. I gawked. I know little about fancy cars, but I did know this car--a low-profile black sports car--had to be high on the pricy list.

"Yeah, this car is very…."

"Unobtrusive?" Eric offered helpfully.

"Yeah, um, right." I walked to my side of the car--which I now mentally labeled the Bat Mobile, of course--and allowed myself to get in. Even though Eric typically drives like a maniac, I told myself, the fact he had this new vehicle boded better for my safety than our previous trips together. I could at least be assured the seatbelts had been tested in recent history.

True to my fears, Eric floored it the minute I'd buckled in, and we were off and roaring through the dark Louisiana night. The engine was pretty quiet, though--quieter than the Corvette's, though I didn't dare say so to Eric. Even though he obviously liked this loaner, I had a feeling he'd take umbrage with any criticism of the Corvette. I closed my eyes, trying not to watch the road peel away from us so quickly (Eric was easily going double the speed limit), and listened to the music playing, and Eric, apparently aware I appreciated the reprieve from human thoughts, kept quiet for almost twenty minutes.

But then, I heard him shift and I peeked beneath my lashes. He reached over to turn down the music just slightly. "I saw Bill left."

Uh-oh. My face turned to stare resolutely at the yellow lines flashing by us, I realized I was effectively trapped in this car, with this conversation. "Yes," I finally said.

"I am sorry," he responded, but his voice was quiet as the engine's.

"Nothing to be sorry for," I muttered, feeling my nails press into my palms.

"You are not happy." His face was set forward, just like mine.

"Not with him, no."

That earned me a Look--he turned to face me, to study me for a long minute, and just before I started to panic and want to remind him that he was the one driving, he said, in a low, velvet tone, "You will be."

Somehow, I knew he wasn't talking about me getting back together with Bill. I shivered slightly beneath his gaze, but not from fear or cold, and kept my eyes locked with his. Finally, after a minute in which I held my breath unconsciously, he turned his hot eyes from me and back to the road.

What do you say to such a thing? "None of your business"? "I watch 'Oprah' and know my happiness is my own responsibility"? "Thanks for caring"? "Thanks for propositioning me"? "Pull over and have at me, baby"?

I shook my head and fanned myself with my hand. Eric must've thought humans took cold way too easily, because it had to be blazing hot in that cabin. Never mind that he had the heat on the dash set at halfway-up--it had to be malfunctioning, because I could feel the searing press of heat against my cheeks and moisture on my neck.

"You didn't call me," he added nonchalantly. Bastard. Here I was, sweating like there was no tomorrow, and he didn't even have a flush on his cheek.

"I said I was busy," I managed.

He slid his eyes over to me, eyebrow arched. "Sookie, you know I know when you're full of shit. Why do you bother lying?"

"I don't know what you mean," I huffed.

"Mmmm, of course not." He shrugged. "No matter. I know your style. Get too close and then run, isn't that it?" He grinned, flashed his teeth at me.

"I do not! And what do you know of my 'style'?"

"I know all about you, lover." He growled out the word and licked his lips visibly, slowly. I squirmed. "Why do you think I haven't had words about you for this? I would never tolerate this with my underlings."

"_Underlings_? Are you saying--"

"You're not my underling. Although I do enjoy having you under me. I think about that often." He grinned again, his white teeth blazing in the darkened cabin.

I huffed and looked aside. We were flying through Bon Temps now, Merlotte's just a bright blur outside the window glass. For a second, I hoped Sam wasn't looking out the window--he'd just show up at my house to lecture me about my "friends"--but then I realized he didn't know this car.

But then again, I realized with a sigh, who _else_ would be driving this car?

We pulled up the quiet lane to my house and into my driveway without problem. I peered out at the woods, looking for the ubiquitous white face of some guardian out there. None tonight. I wondered if Eric had appointed himself night watchman, and shoved the idea away--the image I had of his body "guarding" me weren't quite appropriate, I decided.

Not waiting for (or expecting) Eric to open my car, I stepped out. My house was completely dark, so the roomies had to be gone. Amelia was the only on in town right now, anyway, but she was probably out with her boyfriend.

"Sookie."

I looked back and saw Eric leaning a hip against the car. The buckle of his belt glinted in the light, drawing attention to his slim waist and the way his black tank clung to his strong abdomen. His jeans fitted him closely, I noticed. Very closely. "You're not going to invite me in for a drink?" His eyes caught mine and I swallowed roughly. He knew where I'd been looking, oh, damn him.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," I muttered, and suddenly he was in front of me, backing me up to the front of the car.

"Are you sure, Sookie?" He cocked his head at me and my butt suddenly hit the metal of the car. It was warm but not hot, I realized--maybe because it was newer technology?

I had no time to speculate further about the car's material, as Eric picked me up and put me, perched, on the top of the hood. His arms were on either side of me, bracing against the hood, and my fingers curled inward helplessly, trying to resist the temptation of sliding my hands down those miraculously cut pillars of muscle. He just kept smiling into my face, that patient, smug smile.

"You are something, you know that?"

"Oh, I know." Now the smug smile was even bigger.

"Just because you're cute, doesn't mean you can just assume anything."

He tilted his head, allowing his blond mane to fall across his face invitingly. "Am I…cute, Sookie?" His eyes were sparkling winsomely, with all of the appeal of that last piece of chocolate cake on New Year's Eve. Fight if it you might, but you just knew you were gonna dive in to that slice of sin. And love every minute of it.

"Shut up." Okay, that was the most half-hearted "shut up" in history, as I'd started running my hands up and down his arms, receiving in return a throaty purr from the vampire in front of me. What? I'm a woman. I've got hormones.

"Mmmm….yes." He bent to me, and I tilted my head up. He was still smiling, I saw, as our noses brushed, our lips just-nearly meeting. I saw the flame starting to light in his eyes as I ran my hands around his waist, pulling him to stand between my knees.

I might have whispered his name; I don't know. All I know is I felt his tongue touch my lips, and then I was undone, my lips falling open against his. It might have been cold out; I might have had two hundred pounds of cool vampire flesh against me, but I was blazing with a heat that seemed to soar higher with each turn of our mouths together. His lips moved forcefully against mine, my skin kindling with every brush of his rough beard, every lava-like thrust of his tongue against mine making me feel molten myself. He growled when I raked my nails down his back, and then back up under that tank, greedily taking in every muscle of that perfect back.

His lips moved to my neck, not to bite me, but to mark me otherwise, as best I could tell in my hormonal haze. I grabbed his belt buckle and hauled his hips forward instinctively; he pushed me backward against the car hood and followed me on top of it, on top of me.

"So impatient, lover," he exclaimed roughly, and I thrilled at the idea I could bring this man to momentary breathlessness. Not one to deny himself an opportunity, he yanked my t-shirt up to under my arms, exposing my bra.

I should've been cold. Hell, I should've been freezing. But Eric was bearing down upon me with his lower body, his mouth suddenly upon my breasts, alternately licking and sucking on the nipples that were shamelessly begging for his attention. The first slip of his mouth against my lace-covered skin was so surprising, so intensely pleasurable, that I grabbed his hair and exclaimed his name, causing him to just chuckle and suck harder on me. As I twisted beneath him, he went further. He slid his other palm down to my lower body, cupping me where I needed him, grinding his hand down to make me moan helplessly against him, to make me raise my pelvis for the attention of the slow pressure of his palm.

I was gasping like a marathoner, laying kisses on any part of him that came near me--it wasn't enough, so I pushed him back just slightly, on his heels, so I could work my hand between us and start jerking at the belt buckle.

"Good thinking," he purred against my breast, causing me to squirm bonelessly again.

I wish I could've taken credit for that, but I was just going on a very primal message my body was sending my head: "Get. Him. Naked." I worked frantically with the buckle, shoving it aside, and found Eric chose easily undone jeans, thanks be the heavens. And he was--wahoo!--foregoing any underthings today, so my hand had easy access to what I wanted most.

I heard the giant chest above me suck in a lungful of air when I slid my hand through the wiry hair down his belly and into his groin. He groaned audibly when I closed my hand against the velvet iron of what made him a man, trying to time my movements with the throbbing energy of his body. "Yes, touch me, lover," he growled against my skin, his hips moving quite obviously, the head growing wet in my sliding hand, and oh, Lord, I was as aroused as he was. "More," he hissed, and I felt his tongue sweep against my skin, making me arch by back to allow him better access to my breast.

I didn't care that I was behaving scandalously, I didn't care that what we were doing would get Eric and I in the jail for public indecency and then some, I didn't care that any vampire--including those I couldn't think of when Eric's lips were against my skin--might hear my moans and investigate--I just cared that for whatever reason, Eric's body seemed to ignite mine in a way I could not describe.

I don't know if Eric was having the same experience I was--from the sounds he was making, he was becoming pretty blissed-out, too--but that's why I, anyway, wasn't particularly listening to the world. Including a car rolling right up in the driveway behind us, honking loudly.

"Hello, is someone up there?" It was Amelia, and of course she knew someone was up there. She could probably see Eric's butt (the jeans were still up, thankfully), myself wrapped around him, and my shirt up to my armpits. You'd have to be a newborn baby not to know what was going on.

Eric glared across the yard at her car as I tugged down my shirt. "Just us, Amelia. Just hanging out, you know." Eric, I noticed, had not even bothered to rebutton his pants; he'd just stepped closely to me, keeping his groin obscured. And my hand on him, I noted. Then again, I realized, I'd hardly taken my hand out of the cookie jar, either.

I heard a giggle and suddenly I could see; Amelia had cut the lights on her car and was getting out of it slowly. "Well, um, I'll just be heading inside as y'all say goodnight or whatever--see you later!" And she virtually ran past us, no doubt afraid of the look of death on Eric's face at the moment.

"Hey." I'd like to say it was my voice that brought him back to the moment, but I think sliding my hand against him in a friendly manner was more the cause.

He gave a throaty purr as a reward. "Where were we?"

"We can't continue!" I objected, well aware the living room light was now on, half-illuminating the yard. Amelia wasn't looking for a free show--was she? "I should go--"

"Should you? Can't we?" His hips rolled against my hand, his heavy-lidded eyes fixed on my face.

"Amelia--"

"I don't give a fuck if all of this damn town is watching," he growled, punctuating the appropriate word with a hip thrust.

His lips were on my throat, sucking against the skin there, and then he swept his tongue up there and to my ear. When I groaned, I was wordless, boneless, afire, as he pushed me back against the hood, removed my hand from his jeans, and jerked my pants down. I started to protest, but in the same surge of seconds, his mouth had dropped down to my center, his scorching lips caressing me as my hand had caressed him. One of his hands was on my hips, the other--well, I had no idea where the hell it had gone, nor did I care, as I was suddenly at the point of biting my tongue to stop from screaming his name. Not the threat of Amelia, a vampire (any of them), not the whole town--hell, not even Sam leaning over to lecture me just now would've stopped me from moaning and yanking at Eric's shoulders and hair as he lapped intimately at me.

When the dizzying end came, I was wiping tears away and Eric was licking at the hand I'd bitten, to avoid screaming and alarming Amelia.

"You enjoyed yourself?" He was purring around my hand, as satisfied as a cat that had just eaten a big bowl full of cream. Drawing his tongue across the back of my hand, he winked smugly at me.

I was drawing in shuddering breaths, staring back at his eyes, navy in the night. "It was…" His eyebrows drew together, and suddenly I knew how to throw him off guard. I tugged my shirt back down and wiggled strategically to get my pants over my butt. "Adequate."

Instead, of looking outraged, he just looked delighted, stepping back to tug up his fly and snap his buckle back together. I noticed--trying and failing to maintain a steady lock on his smirking face--that he, too, had apparently enjoyed himself, his body giving evidence that I wasn't the only one who'd come to a happy conclusion. "Don't worry, you'll do better next time." When I looked outraged, he planted an exuberant kiss on me, hauling me off the car, off my feet, and into his arms. As I steadied myself, still reeling from our episode together, his eyes, suddenly serious, looked down at me.

"You are mine, Sookie Stackhouse."

And then, as always, damn that annoying man, Eric disappeared.


	33. Chapter 33

"You are mine, Sookie Stackhouse."

And then, as always, damn that annoying man, Eric disappeared.

Feeling suspiciously like a girl sneaking in after a date, I tiptoed into the house, praying not to run into Amelia. It's one thing to have a policy of silence with one's best friends, another thing entirely to deny things when the evidence is (literally) all over you.

Fortunately, Amelia had made herself scarce--maybe afraid of running into Eric, I guess. Although he definitely was not mad when he'd left…I shoved those thoughts away. (They were the reason I was currently holding my breath in my own house, after all), hopped in the shower, and then in bed. Eric must've had his fill tonight--or he was more into privacy than I thought--because he didn't pop into either place. Who knows, I thought, maybe he's just like a bizarre tooth fairy, bound to pop up when you least expect a hi.

Despite my anxieties about any vampiric visitors, morning came with no interruptions. In fact, when I peered out the window, I saw even the Bat Mobile was gone from the driveway--a good thing, as it was a flashing scarlet sign that I'd been up to no good last night. All I needed was Hoyt's mom passing by, seeing that car, and letting everyone know I had finally become the neighborhood hussy, just as she had always suspected.

I stumbled downstairs, bumped into the human source of my worry. Amelia was cheerfully diving into a plate full of pancakes. "I made extra." She winked. "I figured you might be hungry."

She didn't put any extra emphasis on the final word, but it sure felt like it to me. "Oh, hush," I said, but mildly; after all, those pancakes did look good.

"You hush, Miss '_Oh, oh, Erriiiic….'_ " To my dismay and mortification, Amelia clutched the edge of the table and did her best _When Harry Met Sally _imitation.

I had no words; I dimly heard a big piece of pancake splashing off my fork and back into the strawberry syrup on my plate. My face was as redder than the syrup, that's for sure. "Oh--my--" I floundered. Come to think of it, that might've been a pretty good imitation, too.

Amelia just laughed out right at my expression. "Don't freak out, I didn't really hear anything--although now I know I could have!" She stuck her tongue out at me.

I made myself not react, although a large part of me wanted to hide under the table. "Never you mind. And don't you go gossiping with anybody from Fangtasia, either." I meant Pam, of course; Pam and Amelia had had some kind of "friendship," although I'd never known just how far that friendship went. Between Amelia, who had turned one lover into a cat, and Pam, who, well, shied from nothing sexually, as far as I could tell, anything was possible.

I paused to lift my juice and saw Amelia's reactions to my words. The juice glass came down with a hard thump. "Amelia Broadway!"

"I couldn't help it!"

"Couldn't help _what_? Did you get on the phone with her when you first got into the doorway?"

"No, I promise!" Amelia reached out as if to grab my wrist. "I just was hanging around here, and I happened to…ah, um…well, text message her," she finished, looking up at me sheepishly.

I glared steadily at her. "And what did you say?"

"Just that Eric might be a bit late tonight, if she knew what I meant. But that's it!"

I shook my head in disbelief but stayed silent. There was no point in berating Amelia; she was a good roomie overall, and after all, she wasn't the one who had behaved scandalously. (I cringed, thinking of what Gran would say if she knew what I was up to. Then I remembered she had apparently had her own little secrets, and shoved that line of thought firmly away.)

"Sooo…if you're not going to kill me" (I winced inside, but then, Amelia didn't know that was actually on my resume) "can I ask what's up with you and your lover?"

"No, you may not. And I never said he was that," I added, folding my napkin.

"Yeah, but I've got eyes."

"Don't remind me," I muttered behind my glass lip.

"Didn't you see the night of the take-over? How he was looking at you?"

"I was kind of thinking of staying alive! Weren't you even scared we were all going to die?"

"No," Amelia said confidently. "I don't go down easily. Some bunch of life-deprived punks aren't going to change that." She shook her head. "You're taking me off-topic again. Seriously, you didn't notice how he was all _intense_, you know, as if you were the last sight he wanted to see in this whole world?"

"He was more like looking to see if I was going to do anything stupid. Or you," I added darkly. Amelia had had the fool idea of jumping Victor. Then again, I had had the fool idea of calling Niall, from Eric's perspective.

"Yeah, right. It was incredibly romantic. I told Pam and she agreed."

I bumped my head on my folded arms. "Is everyone in this town discussing my love life?"

"That's the right word to use, girl."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I glanced up.

"I'm going to let you figure that one out." She shoved a plate at me. "Eat, eat!" I rolled my eyes and dug into the pancake. "So, anyway, any news on the attack on the guy who went after Pam's house and you?" Amelia's voice drew me sharply back to the present. "Is everything okay now or what?"

I shrugged and toyed with a last piece of pancake, trying to recall what had been said the night before. "Not really--we got a guy who may be connected, and Bill drew up a real good profile of him--job, school, all of that." Amelia did not look impressed with Bill's research, but then again, she probably wouldn't have been impressed by Bill if he'd turned into a cat in front of her. Which, come to think of it, she'd probably like to see happen. He _had _called her stupid once--in the heat of the moment, of course, but Amelia wasn't one to forget.

"Wow, that sounds like so much information," she said dryly. "Any idea what you're going to do with it?"

"No clue." I took a swig of my OJ. "We know a lot about him, but nothing of why he might be against Er--I mean, the Fangtasia vampires. We really don't know anything about him, character-wise."

"Well, what does he do for hobbies? Can't we just approach him that way, maybe he'll say something and we can get an idea of how he's thinking?"

"We?"

"Hey, this jerk--if it's him--tried to attack Pam. And you, roomie," Amelia added on hastily.

I shrugged. She had as much right to be part of this mess as I did. "No, I don't think Bill got anything on his hobbies. That wasn't part of his profile."

"Profile, profile…." Amelia suddenly dropped her fork and stared hard at me. Given that I've seen people turn into animals in front of me, I was only mildly startled. "What's his name? Address?" I gave her what I could remember, and she bolted from the room, laughing with a devious relish Eric would've appreciated, I thought. Although given how she'd interrupted us last night, I had a feeling Eric would not be in the mood to appreciate Amelia any time soon, I reminded myself. That made me think again of our escapades the night before, my skin burning, as I started to collect together the morning dishes--I started to rub the plates down viciously, to work off my extra energy.

"YEAH! WHO'S THE BEST, MOTHERFUCKER?" Amelia's triumphant bellow came down clearly to me, and I had to grin. "SOOKIE, COME HERE!"

Obediently, I trotted off to her room, to find Amelia at her little desk with her laptop on it. She had her web browser open and a white page of some kind was on the screen. She gestured eagerly towards it. "Is this the guy?"

I squinted at the image, apparently taken by his own cell phone, in his own hand, judging by the fish-eyed look of the image. "Yesss….I think so."

"Hah! I knew Bill had no clue about social networking." Amelia's voice dropped as she leaned over her keys. "Bastard doesn't know how to be social in the first place." I started to object to her tirade when she started stabbing fingers at the screen again. "Check this out, Sookie! He put his name on this website--it's for friends," she tried to explain. I just looked at her in confusion. "Just think if Tara, me, Sam--well, let's say even Pam and some really, really sexy Viking who wants to get in your pants--"

"Amelia!"

"--let's say they all lived far away from you. Sites like this make it easy to keep in contact." I didn't quite grasp what she was explaining, since pretty much everybody who attended Bon Temps High stayed right there in Bon Temps, and I was pressed to think of a single soul who'd escaped. But I trusted her.

"So this is something to show his friends?" At Amelia's exuberant nod, I bent over to look closer at the screen. He'd listed some of his hobbies--playing video games, watching sports, and hanging out at heavy metal bars were some of them, I noted. It could've been Jason's page, but for the reference to the rocker bars; at least the half-naked women would probably be the same, I thought.

"So?" I drew back, frowning.

"So, don't you get it?" Amelia shook her head at me, clicking off on a lower box in the screen. "Let's try again. What bar is this?"

I bent over again, this time to analyze a poor quality picture of a bunch of soused adults making goofy pictures at a camera. "It's a biker bar of some kind…oh! I see a sign. 'Tracks'? "

Amelia nodded aggressively. "Good! And if we look at these photos and when they're made, it's pretty clear he goes there every Friday night."

"So he's there? What does that mean?"

"So, that's our chance to interrogate the bastard!" Seeing my look, she backpedalled swiftly. "I mean, just see if he's even openly anti-vampire. If we meet him and he's some kind of Mother Theresa, we can write him off the list," she added.

"Hmmm," I bit at my fingernails and watched Amelia scan over the page. "Well, I'll tell Eric and he can figure out how he wants to proceed. This is his stuff, after all." Amelia frowned at me. "What? You've been involved in vamp shit how many times now? I always end up in the hospital after these things! I'm not charging out to _volunteer_ to end up in the hospital!" Least of all going to some unknown bar, mind you, I thought to myself. I rubbed my side. Bad things happened to me in weird bars. An image of Fangtasia flitted through my mind. Really bad things.

Amelia, caught up in the excitement of her discovery, merely huffed, but she accepted my words. I fired off a text message to Eric, although it took me a while to try to explain the website thing concisely. If Bill weren't aware of it, I had my doubts Eric would be using one of these sites, too.

I went through the rest of the day, determined to put all of that from my mind. Scarlett O'Hara's got nothing on me, I thought, hopping into my car and jetting off to Merlotte's. I didn't even look at the empty space where the Bat Mobile had been, where we had been…nope, I didn't. Not at all.

"Good afternoon, Sook," Sam said as I bounced into the bar. It was a cooler day, so everybody was ordering the soups and hot sandwiches, and the place was humming. I caught Terry Bellefleur watching the weather on a TV back in the kitchen.

"Look, there's a big snowstorm up in the Midwest," he said, pointing at the screen. I looked up at fluffy white drifts such as I'd not ever seen in Louisiana. Sure, we got snow from time to time, but not that pretty stuff. No wonder Eric liked it. Movement on the screen caught my eye, and I saw a driver skidding out on the TV. No wonder, again, Eric liked it--he didn't have to drive in that.

Making a mental note to ask Eric how the Corvette would handle a snowstorm, I carried a plate of cheese fries out to the front. Hoyt and Jason were there, gossiping over their grub.

"Hey, Sook, where's that foxy dead girl who was at your house?"

"Um, dead, Jason. It's sunlight."

"Oh, yeah." Totally unphased, Jason nodded encouragingly at Hoyt. "I was just telling him what a piece she had." His hands traced a figure eight in the air. Hoyt whistled obediently, and then caught himself, aware of my presence.

"Er, your friend sounds awful pretty, Sookie."

Jason ignored Hoyt's attempt at courtesy. "Nah, she was _hot. _Needed to ditch the old lady clothes, though. She looks better when she's in the leather stuff." I tried desperately not to imagine Pam's reaction to Jason's assessment of her figure. Hoyt just shifted uncomfortably and stared pointedly at the menu.

I threw out a conversational bone to Hoyt. "So, can I get y'all something?"

"Mmmm, what about an appetizer on the house? For family, you know." Jason grinned at me. I just stared at him. I'd allowed him back into my life, despite the awful hand incident, because family is family, but still. He always managed to surprise me.

Seeing my reluctance, he switched tactics. "Hey, Merlotte!" Jason yelled over to Sam. "Isn't my sister the best waitress you got?"

Sam gave Jason a skeptical look, but I knew it had nothing at all to do with me. "She's great, you know that, Jason."

"He's up to no good, Sam--" I started to say, but Sam just nodded at me, and Jason looked offended.

"Whycome she can't just give me some of them wings, then? I've got to keep my muscles up, take care of her, you know." Jason patted his abdomen and stretched.

I wanted to point out that Jason's idea of "taking care of me" was showing up and asking for money (or stealing my groceries), but I didn't need to--Sam and just about everybody in the bar groaned as a whole. Jason's ways were well known. "Sook, give him some wings. Jason, that's your freebie for the month. Don't push it." Jason just roared with laughter and Hoyt had the grace to look shame-faced.

Terry already had some ready for me--"I knew he'd be up to his ol' tricks, 'scuse me, Sookie"--when I went back to the pick-up window, so I could shuttle the basket back to Jason fast. And if they were so hot that Jason bit into one and wailed, "Jesus, Sook!", well, that wasn't my fault, now was it?

"Sure hope you like them free wings," I smiled, and sailed away.

A beep at my hip let me know I'd had some message on my phone. Since the bar was slowing down, I checked it. Eric had apparently read my messages about the guy's website. "Interesting. Will look into it. Touch yourself lately?"

I fought a temptation to slam the phone into the bar counter. "NO."

He apparently was somewhat "up," because I got a rapid reply. "Good. That's my job."

I scanned the bar and perched behind the counter, keeping a good eye on the door and the floor. Just because it was slow, didn't mean Sam would let anybody--including me--slack off and ignore the customers. "Cut it out. I am at MY job."

"That's not what you said last night…."

I was tempted to flip the phone shut and put it away, but it was deathly dull. Plus, as Gran once told me, I'm drawn to trouble like a bee to a flower. "You are bad!"

I just got a weird string of symbols back, before I realized he'd created a vampire version of one of those smiley-face symbols. ":K "

I glanced across the bar--yup, still dead out there. "Where did you go last night? You left the car."

"Scouting out the neighborhood. No need to worry."

Okay, that was enough to make me instantly worry. I decided to go back to more productive lines of thought. "Want me to thank Amelia for the new info?"

"Perhaps. She is not yet forgiven however." I didn't have to ask "for what." I made a mental note not to tell Amelia anything about this conversation. She was paranoid enough about him as-is. "This must pay off significantly before she may have my thanks."

I snorted. "And what about me?"

"You at least had great pleasure."

I bit my cheek to quit from giggling, punching the keypad rapidly. "Great? I thought it was adequate? Why, I must've had amnesia or something."

The reply came just a bit after the one prior; Someone was definitely not pleased. "You are tempting me, woman."

"Pity you can't do anything about that," I typed back. The door swung open, and with it, a bunch of coworkers for a late lunch or beer. "Oops, gotta go."

The rest of the day flew by, as the stream of workers signaled an uptick in business. I was on my feet until 9, and I came back to the house thoroughly exhausted. I didn't even bother talking to Amelia, who was watching TV, as I entered; I just waved hello and went upstairs to flop in bed.

I was too tired to even dream, until a particularly heated dream started to warm me up. Lips were by my ear, licking that secret spot there that made me quiver; a very solid body slid against mine, slowly and deliberately rubbing a very male groin against mine. Hair slid across my skin, and I sighed a familiar name.

"Oh, yes, lover," a voice rumbled against my ear, hot like molten chocolate. A hand slid up the oversized t-shirt I was wearing, and palmed my breast.

"Mmm….yes…." I arched into the very friendly hands.

"So is this….adequate?" the voice asked, suddenly taunting, the fingers plucking at my nipple right on the word "adequate."

My eyes flew open, although of course that didn't help much--the room was dark, after all. But I had no difficulty identifying the person whose limbs were braided with mine, and who was currently smirking right above me.

"Eric!"

"Oh, yes, say that again," he grinned, and his hips brushed mine significantly.

"Get off me, you jackass!"

He just laughed and slid to the side. He was fully clothed, I noticed, so he apparently hadn't been lurking a long time.

"You are a jerk!" I tugged the blankets around me, trying to unwind them where I'd kicked them off. "Why couldn't you just, you know, _call_? I don't go jumping in bed with you when you're sleeping!" He grinned enormously and I glared. "Don't even think about it."

His face had a cast of angelic innocence. "Never, of course."

"Right." I snorted. "What brought you here?"

He hopped to his feet. "We must talk." I blanched, and he pointed downstairs. "Pam's here. Come down and talk with us."

"Pam's here and you were just---oooh!" I threw a pillow at him, which he dodged. He just smirked, blew me a kiss, and waltzed out the door.

I glared at the door, but aware Eric had left me a moment to actually get dressed in peace, I decided not to wait on the opportunity. I threw on some sweats and headed downstairs.

Just as Eric had said, Pam was sitting in my living room. She was seated primly, apparently in some stage of downtime; her eyes were not alert until she heard me, blinked. Eric was lounging on my couch, keeping a spot next to himself, which he patted invitingly. I glared and took a seat in the rocking chair instead. Eric didn't apparently take any insult; he just grinned and slowly stroked his thigh, his sapphire eyes never leaving mine. His tongue slipped out and wet his lips.

"Nice to see you, Pam," I said pointedly. Amelia had apparently already served the vamps TrueBlood, I saw. "Can I get you anything else?"

"No, thank you, this is fine." Pam smiled distantly. Her amused eyes darted between myself and Eric, I saw, and the yawning gap between us.

I folded my arms, aware that my hair was still messy and I looked like I'd just been roused from sleep, as I was. "What brings you two to the neighborhood?"

Pam glanced over at Eric; he didn't seem inclined to speak, just smiling that smile at me. Pam rolled her eyes at him and looked over at me. "We investigated this bar you mentioned."

I did the math in my head. "Wow, that was fast."

Pam inclined her head slightly; this was apparently her work. "I was eager to rip his throat out for violating my home." She smiled. It was not a pretty smile. "But he was not there, and the patrons…were disinclined to talk to me." Her tone indicated she did not quite understand why this was the case.

"Hmmm, wow, that's a real mystery. So what brought you here?" I saw the look the two vamps exchanged, and the truth dawned on me. "Oh, no, oh, no! I am not getting dragged into this! I've already been beaten up, shot at, almost run down, and almost blown up!" I made myself look at Eric. "Don't you have any other flunkies who can do this?"

Eric leaned forward, and his eyes were no longer playful. "I would not ask this of you if it were not important, Sookie." I groaned. "We need a reliable, intelligent human whom we can trust. That's you."

"So nice," I snarled, folding my arms. "Won't they recognize me? After all, I seem to be targeted because of _you _a lot." Okay, that was a low blow, but I was ticked.

Pam spoke up, distracting us. "You have beautiful breasts." That took the wind out of both Eric and I; we both looked over at her, more than a little shocked.

Pam just snorted and waved away Eric's sudden dreamy expression. She looked at me to explain. "Nobody will look at your face, Sookie. Especially in _that _environment."

"So you want me to go in there, and try to talk to this jerk, and all by myself?"

"You will not be alone." Eric and Pam exchanged a look before he continued. "We will await you outside the bar. If necessary, I will enter. I have a disguise."

"Another suit?" I asked sarcastically.

"I have a briefcase," he responded airily. "I will be a visiting businessman."

"Oh, great," I groused. "And what about me?"

I meant it to be a rhetorical question, but Pam grinned enormously. "Do not worry, Sookie; I have the _perfect _outfit for you." I glanced over at Eric, and he looked downright hungry.

Oh, I was worried, all right.

_Thanks to all reviewers--I keep forgetting to tell you how much I appreciate and enjoy your thoughts! _


	34. Chapter 34

"Oh, great," I groused. "And what about me?"

I meant it to be a rhetorical question, but Pam grinned enormously. "Do not worry, Sookie; I have the _perfect _outfit for you." I glanced over at Eric, and he looked downright hungry.

Oh, I was worried, all right.

They wouldn't tell me more about their plans--Eric just said he'd "tell me more of this later." The vamps got up and started moving to my door, with me in tow.

"Lovely to see you as always, Sookie. Don't die when we're not watching," Pam said, palm on the door handle.

"Thanks, Pam, I'll do that."

"Anytime."

That left the Blond Menace, who was smirking down at me. "It's lovelier to see her naked," Eric said, but I managed to get my fingers over his lips before he could quite complete the sentence. That didn't phase him; before I could react, he parted my fingers and gave the flesh between them an obscene lick. With a wink, naturally.

"Will you ever behave?" I could've stamped my foot, but I had a feeling he'd just laugh at me.

"Never," he grinned.

"He's telling the truth about that," Pam interjected. Eric didn't look back at her; his glowing eyes didn't leave my face.

"Oh, I believe you." I wasn't looking at Pam, though. A desire to one-up Eric struck me, but how could one embarrass him? Startle him? I could've reached over and grabbed him crassly, right in front of Pam, and he'd probably just have commented on how much of a grip I should make.

His quirked eyebrow did me in, so I threw caution to any breeze in the county, took two steps forward, yanked his white face down, and planted my own Sookie Stackhouse kiss on one startled vampire.

The thing with vampires, that thing that always gets me in trouble, is they react a lot faster than normal people. I wasn't really thinking about what I was doing, but I just meant to give him a fast smack and pull back--just like he always did to me in public, minus the generous use of tongue. That's it--a kiss and run.

But when has Eric ever done what I expected? Instead of obligingly allowing me to step back, Eric made a noise deep in his chest and shoved forward eagerly against me. Suddenly we were pressed up against the wall together like two desperate teenagers; I could feel the light switches against my back and I didn't give a damn.

"How precious," I heard Pam say, somewhere where there wasn't a stinging rush in my blood and a thunder in my ears. "Eric, we're vampires; we drink blood, not eat people's faces." Eric gave her no mind. "Should I be taking the car, then?" That pulled him up short; he lifted his head from mine reluctantly.

"You have no timing, Pamela," he growled.

She looked at her watch, shrugging delicately. "Was I to stand here while you copulated? And Sookie dear, you don't need to keep clutching his ass. It's in no danger of falling off, I assure you."

I jerked my hands away from the offending area, and folded my arms against my chest. Above me, Eric was watching me thoughtfully, his eyes sparkling. "Perhaps I will stay here tonight...would you desire that, Sookie?" _Hell, yes_, my body wanted to answer; I desired that and a lot more. But Pam was watching, openly amused, and I wasn't going to crudely accept a proposition in font of her. No matter how much my hormones viciously reminded me that I'd be paying for that pride later.

I fiddled with the neckline of my sweater, avoiding his gaze. "You should--you should go, I'm really tired…"

"Really." Eric's tone was indulgent, even though he made it perfectly clear he didn't believe me at all. "Too tired to repeat what we just--"

Pam saved me. Goodness knows, losing myself in the eyes above me, I had no ability to speak just then. "Eric, I do hate to rush your little goodbye, but we are to meet Victor's agents, are we not?"

Eric grunted and swore. "Only for him would I be doing this." He grabbed my fluttering hand and brought it back up to his lips for a kiss that started tender, but ended with a touch of his tongue. "I must go, lover. Be well."

After that episode, I was hardly able to sleep well. Heck, I kept peeking out my window to see if a vampire was flying nearby, a vampire considering seducing me. A blond one, I mentally stipulated, as I really did not want to deal with Anybody Else.

But no, no vampire came back to me--I guess the meeting with Victor ran long. Or Eric was just trying to make me hormonal enough to either call him and beg (an option I considered), or take matters in my own hands (an option I refused, as I just knew Eric would break the laws of time and motion to get to me just in time for maximum embarrassment). So I tossed and turned, frustrated (on many a level), until dawn rose once more.

Fortunately, it was my off day, so I dozed in when I finally did convince my body to sleep, and then had the morning to myself, for some important lounging time. I got caught up on the morning shows--you know, stuff like those court shows where somebody's always lending foolishly to family, at which I thought of Jason; Maury, where a poor girl just realized her lover was a vampire and therefore could not be the father of her child; or the Tyra show, where she put on some trashy Goth outfit and went with a secret camera into a "vampire bar." It wasn't anything like Fangtasia, of course, so I could sit in amusement, remembering the days when I believed vampire bars featured non-stop violence and table-top sex. Which, I guess, was true in general of the spirit behind Fangtasia, but they tended to do those things behind closed doors.

"Oh, it's that model chick. She was hot." The couch shook as Jason threw himself down next to me. "Not that I'd kick her out of the sack now."

"Pretty is as pretty does," I responded absently.

"I remember Gran sayin' that a lot. Old saying, I guess." Jason stretched out, which entailed throwing his arms as wide apart as possible.

I shifted over with a huff. Of course, Jason didn't register that. Jason didn't register anything that wasn't a woman he could bed, or a beer he could drink. Which made me start thinking… "Jason!"

"Hell, I didn't do nothing, woman!" He looked around frantically, probably checking to see if he'd knocked over any drinks, sat on anything precious, or put his dirty boots on any furniture. (One bad habit I could promise Jason did _not_ have. Gran had lit into him too many times on that point. He was fastidious about dirty shoes in the house as a result.)

I turned to face him. "I know you didn't. I just had a question, that's all. You know a bar, Tracks? It's for some biker types?"

Jason frowned and slid deeper into the couch, scratching his stomach absently. "Hmmm…sounds familiar. Biker bar, you say? Mighta been there…Yeah, I was out that way once getting a piece of—I mean, catching up with an old friend. I stopped in." He coughed and I fixedly kept my mental shields up. There are some things about your siblings you just don't want, ever, to know. "Anyway, it was an okay place, and some of the chicks were hot. Why are you looking for a biker bar, Sookie? What's this to you?"

"It's to help out a friend, that's all. He might want to meet somebody there."

"Meet somebody there? I don't know, some of those people I wouldn't want to go meeting, if you know what I mean. Who's the guy? One of your vamp men? Which one is it?" Jason glanced sideways at me. "Don't get your back up, I'm not judging. I just hope it's the one you had here before." Well, that could be half of the Louisiana vamps, to be perfectly honest—there'd been a gathering near my house at the time of the take-over. But knowing Jason's peculiar turns of phrase, I could figure out instantly whom he meant—Eric. And knowing Jason, I knew why—he was aware that Eric had money. Jason had always hinted he should've asked for more when I'd watched Eric during his time of amnesia.

"Don't get any ideas. This isn't for money." I folded my arms and tried to look forceful. I didn't want to throw Jason out—we weren't on the best of terms, you could say—but I would. I'd had it with being the victim of his selfish behavior.

"Like that, huh?" he merely responded. "Well, he seemed all right, 'cept for them friends of his who wanted to kill him." Jason said this in the blasé tone of one who'd been regularly threatened by scores of husbands, boyfriends, and brothers. "So what's he want at this bar?"

I tried to figure out what to tell Jason—even fully sober, he wasn't known for discretion. Eventually, I just gave up and stuck to my initial story—Eric wanted to meet somebody, nothing more than that. I couldn't say Jason bought it; he might not be ready for a _Jeopardy_ contest any time soon, but he's no fool, either. Well, most of the time, anyway.

Fortunately for me, Jason had to head off to work soon, and didn't have the time to keep pushing me on this point. He grabbed some of my oranges cheerfully and I heard his truck roar as he peeled out of the driveway, Carrie Underwood song blaring.

It was a peaceful kind of morning, for all of Jason's interruption. I grabbed one of my new favorite romance novels and started thumbing through it. After all, some times, you just aren't interested in the plot, such as it is. I was lounging on the couch, still in my pjs, and reading about the warrior Alrek's conquest of some half-naked maiden whose name I couldn't remember, but really, I could care less about _her_. I had every page where Alrek showed up bookmarked, so I could skip ahead to the good parts. Like when there was that steam bath nearby, and she caught him in it, water dripping down from his blond hair, down his pale chest, down…

"You're certainly going all out, aren't you?"

"Jesus!" If the Lord were feeling charitable, He'd have let me get away with that. Instead, I half-jumped, and ended up falling off the couch on my butt.

"Well, aren't you a sight?" Claudine, my insane fairy god-cousin, looked down at me. I was horribly aware of the inequities of our fashion choices—as always, she looked like she'd just stepped out of the pages of a magazine, the kind where most of the pages are ads for two hundred dollar watches and leather products you could never afford.

"I suppose," I grunted, and heaved myself back up on the couch. "Have a seat, Claudine. I'm sorry I wasn't ready to receive you properly."

Claudine just waved her hand, as I knew she would. It was as if nothing I owned could ever meet her standards—I'd bet nothing in Bon Temps would meet her standards—so I might as well stay in my well-worn pjs. "It's nothing, really. I'm just stopping by to see how things are going."

"Things?" I tried to remember if anybody had been killed lately. That was usually when Claudine showed up. "Well, I guess things are all right," I said doubtfully. If you'd lived in my shoes these last years, you'd hesitate about saying anything was all right, too.

"What about your Viking?" Claudine popped onto the chair across from me and crossed her legs daintily.

"He's not mine, and he's okay. I guess. Hey, you wouldn't happen to know who's trying to attack the Fangtasia people, would you?"

That would have made my life much easier, but no. Claudine shook her head. "Afraid not, Sookie. I can tell you one thing, however…" She lowered her voice conspiratorially, and I leaned in. What would she tell me? A clue? An answer? Some big tip?

"He really likes it when you paint your nails." She winked.

I glared at her and she giggled, and then giggled again as she saw my book. "He's quite pretty, isn't he?" I wasn't sure what "he" she meant, so I stayed silent.

"Oh, you're not fun." She sulked. "And here I brought you a present." I wasn't too far from Gran's training that I didn't feel immediately remorseful for being ungracious, but Claudine just waved me off again. "Never you mind, I'm supposed to be doing this, remember? Here, go get yourself the works. And remember: red nails." She winked, dropped something in my lap, and disappeared again.

I looked down at my lap—it was a gift certificate to the local spa place. There was a hair dressing side, I knew, where the mayor's wife went, and the other side offered amenities ranging from manicures to massages. "Well, hell." I needed to figure out something nice to do for Claudine, but what do you do for the fairy who has everything? Although she had absolutely loved it when I gave her a DVD of _Labyrinth_—maybe it was time for the _Lord of the Rings_ next? That Orlando Bloom was a sight to see, after all.

With that thought in mind, I made the appointment for the all-day visit and hoped I wouldn't make a fool of myself, forgetting or missing some spa etiquette. I wasn't exactly a spa kind of girl, normally, but if you can't try out relaxing, what can you try?

That was the mood I was in when I finally left the spa—nice and deep-tissue relaxed, blinking at the realization that it was twilight. I breathed in deeply—a beautiful night, not a single muscle tight, what more was there to ask of this world?

Until I saw the Pacifica parked by the front door.

The owner of the mini-van of doom leaned out the window at me, white teeth flashing. "It is time."

True to her word, Pam had me in that car in two seconds and we were flying back to my house. I saw, to my horror, that there were bags in the back seat. "Pam, do I want to know what you bought?"

"Probably not," she said. "But at least Eric hasn't seen it yet, either." I groaned and threw my hands over my face, and she just laughed. Pam was in far, far, far too good a mood for my mental health.

We slid into my driveway like the proverbial bat sprung from hell. Judging from Pam's eagerness, she'd not had a doll to play with in a few centuries—I made a mental note to tell Eric to get her some Barbies or something so she wouldn't want to do this again. As she hurled me into my bedroom and followed with the bags flying, I knew her future subjects would have to be inanimate—only the inanimate could survive physically or emotionally the embarrassment she was providing.

An embarrassment it was. With brutal efficiency, Pam helped strip me of my clothing, denied me all but the most minimal of underwear, and then handed me something so miniscule I thought it was a scarf at first. I'd finally caved to outright sulking. "I hate you," I said for the umpteenth time, as Pam wrangled with the laces in the back of my--well, to call it a shirt would be generous. She just chortled.

"You can, but he's going to _love_ me." That did not sound good, not at all.

I stared at myself in the mirror and felt the flush climb up from my toes. I was wrestling my way into the most horrible outfit of all time. I was convinced of it. Gran would've died on the spot if she'd seen me wearing this. It was an all-black leather get-up--pants, and the most ridiculous excuse of a shirt I've ever seen. J-Lo's infamous green dress had more on top than this supposed "top."

"Shut up and stand still," Pam said behind me, but her tone was nowhere near as exasperated as mine. She loved this, I just knew it. She even whistled to herself as she applied some kind of skin tape to keep the halter top sides on my unrestrained chest.

"Pam, my butt is _huge _in this!" I wailed, catching sight of myself in the mirror. Even made up like a two-dollar tramp, I had some standards, and they didn't include skin-tight pants that barely let me wear underwear. That was Eric's style, not mine.

"Trust me, the bar trash won't be looking at your butt," Pam said, tugging up the sides of the V-cut shirt. I don't know why she bothered; about three-fourths of my boobs were on display, with the last quarter about to spill out any time now. "Eric, will they be looking at her butt?" I shrieked in horror as Pam shoved the door open. Eric was there--of course--leaning against the wall and smirking to high heaven. He didn't answer her, and he definitely wasn't looking me in the eyes. I could feel heat rising from the exposed skin of my abdomen, moving upwards to the valley between my breasts, soaking over the skin there, right where his burning eyes were focused.

"See?" Pam hissed in my ear.

"I think you've got something on your arm there," Eric started to say, his hand reaching out, his eyes focused somewhere in the neighborhood of my "arms," but Pam slapped his fingers away.

"You have no idea how hard it was to get her into this. I can't do it twice in one night."

"I volunteer to get her out of it," he tossed her a grin, and then licked his lips at me.

"Thank you." She nodded approvingly at me. "Doesn't she look perfect, Eric?"

"Just so." I realized, to my horror, he'd raised his phone.

"Don't take my picture!" I threw my arms over my chest defensively, and then gasped when I realized even more of my boobs had fallen out. I tugged the material over them irritably.

"Relax, lover." Eric was smiling at me, the smile of Christmas morning. "This is just for my _personal _enjoyment."

"Oh, ick," I groused.

Eric reached forward and caught one of the hands I'd folded over the giant gap in material over my cleavage. "You are delicious, lover." His fingers slid over mine in a caress. "Right down to your finger-tips." He looked down, delighted. "I love red nails!"

Pam's grin couldn't get any bigger. I started to wonder if she and Claudine had swapped cell numbers when I wasn't looking, but tabled that thought so that I could glare at her all the more.

"Well, then, shall we?"

"We shall." Eric's hand slid firmly around my waist, and his fingers slid right under my shirt. I slapped them away automatically and sighed.

It was going to be a long night.


	35. Chapter 35

"Well, then, shall we?"

"We shall." Eric's hand slid firmly around my waist, and his fingers slid right under my shirt. I slapped them away automatically and sighed.

It was going to be a long night.

We piled into Pam's minivan—one of us more reluctant than the others, of course. The vamps were certainly feeling their oats; Eric bounded right up into the backseat with me, causing Pam to snort as she hopped into the front seat and adjusted her designer (and perfectly unnecessary) sunglasses. She appeared to be humming something—from _Grease_, I realized, and groaned.

"You aren't sulking, are you, Sookie?"

"I still don't see why I have to dress like this!"

Next to me, Eric was practically humming with nervous energy. Or something else, given the way he was shoved right up against me, and not because the backseat lacked room. His arm was thrown around my shoulders, the better to try to touch me. Apparently, this outfit was the fashion equivalent of fairy scent for Eric.

"Remind me to take you into Fangtasia like this later," he said.

"Don't get any ideas," Pam said over her shoulder. "You'll start a fight in two minutes, and who will pay for the damage?"

Eric grunted sullenly in assent. Feeling his fingers stroke my upper arm, it occurred to me that I had a gateway here. I shifted to face him. I hadn't quite registered before his outfit—he had, in fact, brought out one of his suits. Knowing what generally happened whenever Eric wore one of his suits, I winced; this was not a good omen for our expedition. All the more reason to try to save (or at least redress) my butt, to stall this or get to a plan B in which I'd have some decent clothing on.

"Eric." I murmured, lowering my voice; Pam would certainly hear what I was doing, but I wanted to use what wiles I had. I reached over with one hand and ran my fingers down the curve of his jaw and to his throat; I drew my nails lightly there, as I knew he liked. He growled softly, his blue eyes burning down at me.

"Eric," I repeated. "We could go back to Fangtasia…" I put my other hand on his knee cap "accidentally," allowing my fingers to touch the inside of his leg there. Okay, and a little higher too, but then I wasn't looking downwards. His eyes became decidedly unfocused. "Now." I leaned in closer, whispering in his ear, "To your office." Figuring Pam couldn't hear _everything_, I allowed myself a little lick, too.

He hissed and suddenly, I felt a Viking at my own ear. "You are so…" Eric's hand was not stopping at the knee, I noticed. I also noticed I wasn't objecting. "_Hot_…" His tongue slid to that little place by my ear that he'd discovered that night at the cabin, when he'd held me under him on the hood of his car. You'd think that would make me cold, but suddenly, my skin was burning fire. And now he'd discovered the power of breathing on that spot, too, which seemed live-wired to certain southern parts of my anatomy. I squirmed and his hand squeezed me. "---when you bullshit me," he finished, pulling back with a mirthful expression.

I slapped at his chest and he drew back, laughing at my scowl. "Lover, you're spectacular." His face turned serious. "But what is your worry? No man shall offend you, if that is what worries you."

"She needs to worry. Some bastard was trying to take out my garden!" Pam added. She flipped the radio station with an annoyed sound.

Because Pam was driving, we got to the bar in record time. (She drove faster than her GPS could allow for; I asked her why she even bothered with a GPS, but she ignored me. Eric informed me that the device had been on Oprah's show, and for that reason it had become a necessity to Pam.)

"Do not speak ill of Her," Pam said darkly, pulling us into a lot. I was half-tempted to ask Pam if Oprah was a vamp, too, just to get a rise out of her, but our surroundings took the question from my lips.

Well, you could tell right away we were there. The "bar" was an oversized shack leaning slightly over, as if to buckle under years of cheap beer and fried food. The neon sign out front had lost its C, so the name flashed "TRAKS" at random intervals. The parking lot was a mix of mud and gravel, and the majority of the cars were trucks. More than the cars, though, were the presence of bikes—giant motorcycles, twice as big as me, for the most part.

"I need one of those," Pam said, pointing at a pink one.

"Later." Eric had lost his sense of playfulness. "You know what to do, Sookie?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, right." Actually, my walking orders to myself went like this: Go in, see if I could hear anything relevant, get the hell out of there before one of my boobs fell out.

"If you need me—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, blood bond, cell, whatever," I growled.

He caught me as I wiggled across him for the sliding door. His mouth was at my ear. "Be safe. I'll get out the pink lycra you liked later, if you wish." His hands on my hips helped me move to the door, but they also gave me a friendly squeeze.

I was momentarily distracted by Eric's reference to the night of the orgy, and his supremely distracting outfit that night, but I got myself back together in a hurry. No time to go mooning over memories, Stackhouse, I told myself, and at Pam's thumbs-up, I hopped from the van and scurried (well, as fast as possible, in that outfit), into the bar.

It was Sam's idea of hell—not just the volume, which was normal for any bar, or the language (also normal, particularly when poor Lafayette was working in our kitchen), or the smell (ditto), but the pack of bodies, the lack of decent seating, and the trash on the floor. We had our types who liked to shuck the bar nuts and toss 'em on the floor, but we actually swept up every night. This place, I figured, hadn't seen a broom since, well, the last time Eric wielded one regularly. Which would be never.

Because of the lack of room, I had no choice but to move to the bar, where the bartender (in a stained white t-shirt that would make Sam have a fit) gave me a huge smile and a free drink. "For the pretty little lady," he said, but his mind told me something else. As if the direction of his eyes weren't clear enough!

I scoped out the room as discreetly as possible. None of the guys here were standouts in my book—slightly more modern version of those Capitol One barbarians, come to think of it. The women (who universally thought of me as a slut) were dressed in a mix of leather, jeans, and tight t-shirts, all of which had seen better days. Their attitude was grim; they worked hard, wanted to play hard, and saw me as a threat to that.

Well, I couldn't blame them there, given I was dressed like a two-dollar floozy. Heck, I'd been mad when Claudine showed up and literally showed me up in front of all of the guys, and she didn't transmit "easy" the way my outfit clearly was.

"Why, hey, sweet thing," drawled one bear-like man, moving in next to me. I say "next" because really he forced a spot, almost pushing me into the lap of the guy on the other side. I cast down my shields and jerked them up again when I caught wind of oil, a water bed, and what the hell, a remote control?—yup, just your run-of-the-mill pervert.

"So nice to see ya," I beamed my enormous nervous smile. "But I've got to hit the ladies'. Be right back!"

I scrambled down the bar, to the darker area wherein all restrooms are located. I was really just avoiding Mr. Bear, but it wouldn't do to make it look realistic.

And that's when I noticed him—a guy sitting at the end of the bar by himself, stewing thoughtfully over a bottle of cheap beer. In any other setting, he'd be perfectly unremarkable, but for me, he was just the opposite—Langdon Bettany.

"This seat taken?" I patted the unbalanced stool next to him.

Jerked out of his thoughts, he mumbled, "Nah," and then looked at me. And blinked. And stared. And grinned.

Men are such pigs, I tell you.

Reluctantly, I fixed my mega-wattage nervous smile on and held out my hand. "Thanks, pal!"

"Welcome, Miss….?"

Although he was apparently talking to "the girls," I answered him anyway. "Martie." Pam had wanted my alias to be Martha Stewart, but we compromised on this point. "And you are…?"

"Name's Langdon but everybody 'round here calls me Larry." He apparently had yet to notice I had a neck or anything above it.

"Nice to meet ya, Larry!" I waved to the bartender for another drink and let my shields down.

_Damn, that girl with the rack is so out of Larry's league. Wonder who paid her to talk to him? _I wrestled my face into calm as the bartender, winking, served me my drink.

_Why is he with that cheap bitch, I've been trying for years to get him_, the woman at the table across from the bar was thinking.

_I've never seen tits like those outside of a _Hustler, my dear friend Larry was thinking. What did I say about men being pigs?

"I haven't been to this bar before, been over in Shreveport a lot," I told my new best friend, who was currently speculating on my cup size.

"Shreveport, huh?" I was impressed he managed words. I waited, sipping my beer, in hopes he'd get the connection. The most famous bar in Shreveport was Fangtasia, of course, although its fame was purely in terms of notoriety.

Ahhh, there it came. A ripple of anxiety slid over his face. "You go to that vamp bar?"

"Nah, not a lot. I like my men warm." I simpered, but it made no difference, unless my boobs somehow reflected my facial expression.

_Not one of them fangers, then…Should show her to Jerry, show him there's better stuff out there---not that creepy shit he's with now—although Jesus knows they can pay…_

I stiffed as if an ice cube ran down my spine, as an image of Eric's Corvette flashed through Langdon's mind. The thoughts came rapidly, and I tried desperately to piece them together—the Corvette, a friend, a check, and the new HD TV on his wall of his house, and how he'd spent that first night consoling himself with porn.

Even criminal men are pigs, I guess.

"So, a lot of _them _hang out here?" I asked, trying to redirect his thoughts back to the vamps.

He glanced longingly at my chest before (finally) bothering to look at my face. "Them? Oh, you mean the vampires. Nah, this ain't their place." _Good thing, too_, he was thinking, with Bela Lugosi-type images in his head. I nearly choked on my beer. This guy definitely hadn't had much contact with vampires, that's for sure. "This is just a neighborhood hang-out, locals, y'know. And pretty little guests like yourself." His eyes were down south again.

I decided to take a pause and get my breath back together. "Why, thanks, Larry. I'm going to scoot to the ladies'—be right back!"

I "scooted" as delicately as I could back to the restrooms and ran into a brunette emerging from the hallway. Even in the half light, we recognized each other; my hand shot out to clamp over her mouth, and I dragged her into the women's room.

It was (thank God) empty. "Amelia! What the HELL are you doing here?" I whispered furiously.

"Same thing as you!" Her eyebrows went up to her forehead. "And what the _hell _are you wearing, by the way?"

I waved my hand impatiently. "You could get yourself killed!"

"And you couldn't? Besides, it's better than Jason."

I stared at her. "Jason?"

"Yeah, he wanted to come—he stopped by the house and asked if you'd left, said he was going to follow along. It was only after I promised him I'd go and do my 'witch voodoo shit' that he agreed not to come. And good thing he did," she said pointedly. "One look at you and he'd lose it."

I rubbed my face. "Okay, thanks for heading off Jason. That…would not have gone well." A disaster in the making, more like it. Jason was about as subtle as a rock. "So what have you got?"

"Not much, but I know there's a bunch of E(E)E people who live near here. That could be the source of your mystery button."

I nodded thoughtfully. "Let me head back out there and ask the guy I had at the bar. And no, I'm not saying anything else—now's not the time."

I slid back out into the dingy bar area. My stool had been held open by Langdon/Larry; he'd tossed his jacket on it and seemed to be scanning the area. When he saw me, he snatched his coat back and grinned. "It can get kind of full here." The woman at the table across from us glared at me again for this show of preference.

"Oh, sure, thanks." My smile could've knocked him over. Fortunately, he wasn't looking in the direction to get the full power. "Hey, I thought I saw some people up front who all had some weird emblem, all Es. Is that some kind of bike gang for here? I haven't heard of it in Shreveport."

"Weird emblem?" I patiently drew him a copy of the E(E)E logo, doing my best to fudge it as if I weren't entirely certain of its design. "Oh, yeah, those types. No, the vamps aren't coming here—they just work for them, setting up their parties and shit like that."

"Vampires have parties? What, like Mary Kay?" I pretended to giggle. Since I was on edge, my laugh came out as slightly crazed.

Langdon didn't seem to care. "Yeah, parties. I ain't ever been to one of them, don't worry." He winked. "Don't want to end up like them cold men!" He must've had a bit more to drink, as he patted the area near his belt buckle. "I want to be warm, y'know." He winked.

I kept my vacant smile fixed. "Oh, sure, sugar. I wouldn't want to work for those types, either. Give me the heebie-jeebies. What do you do, anyway?"

"Oh, lots here and there…economy's down, y'know." I nodded sympathetically and he leaned in. "I do have a lead at that E place, but it's my friend's brother, and I ain't so sure I want to get mixed up any more with them."

_Any more_. I saw more images moving through his head—a guy, a friend he met just today for lunch; buffalo wings that didn't sit right with his digestion; I pushed all of my energy towards the friend's face, not the food—bingo! It was the same guy who had tried to burn down Pam's house. He wasn't wearing anything that linked him to Quinn's business, though, and I knew he wasn't one of their workers.

"Maybe your friend could help you out, get you a spot whatever he's doing," I suggested, trying to maintain my stillness.

"Jerry? Nah, he's…got a lot on his plate." I saw the arsonist again, this time gesticulating wildly as he sat at the bar with Langdon; Langdon wasn't thinking of the conversation, but the tone came through clearly---there was a lot of drama in Jerry's life. "He's done temp stuff with that place, too, but nothing permanent." Apparently not liking this gloomy turn of the conversation, he mentioned, "But hey! What's your talent, Martie?"

_Not the ones you're thinking of_, I wanted to respond, but I bit my lip. "Oh, I was clerking—lots of temp work, you know how it is. Not too many places nowadays that are good for a woman to work at."

My new buddy nodded affirmatively. "Terrible out there for a woman these days."

As he started to regale me with stories about his sister's job, I let my mind wander again. He was actually thinking about what he was saying, bless him, so I didn't have to follow his thoughts too deeply. I glanced out towards the other side of the bar, nearer the door. Amelia had stationed herself there, and she was chatting fairly easily with a couple of guys and a girl. Beyond them, the door opened and shut with a decisive thump, as a new group of leather-clad types wandered in.

"Oh, great," Langdon was saying next to me. "Jer's here, you should meet him."

_He sure likes the blondes, but his ain't half as hot as you…_

"Jer?" I replied automatically, sweeping my eyes across the crowd.

"He just came in with that E(E)E group—one I mentioned before. The vamp people, remember."

"Oh, yeah, right." I saw, to my distress, that dear Jerry had indeed arrived. He was working his way through the bar, with a bunch of guys in leather E(E)E jackets. I guess Quinn was paying better these days.

_Told him he ought to get away from those types—I don't care about the money, they're all freaks…_

Amelia must've seen the group, too, because she spun on her stool to look at me. For once, I let down my shields and tried to listen to a friend's mind.

_Is that an 'oh, shit' or an OH, SHIT, roomie? _

I was suddenly aware of the predicament we were in. Even if I hadn't been a target of the fire, Jerry might remember our up-close-and-personal encounter in Pam's yard—unless he was attacked by blonds wielding garden gnomes on a regular basis, which I doubted. Which would expose me right in front of Langdon, and make getting out of this place in one piece unlikely.

Oh, hell. Here we go again.

I shot Amelia a look—no secret codes, unfortunately, nothing more than a frantic shake of my chin. Fortunately, Amelia was well versed in the art of the Female Look, and interpreted my expression correctly. She suddenly staggered backward and managed to land on a large man's lap, dumping her beer all over his lady friend.

"Bitch! Watch where you're going!" the woman howled.

"Woah, there, little momma!" exclaimed the man.

"Did you just pinch my ass?" Amelia yelled, slapping in the direction of the large man, who grabbed her wrists, confused. The poor man's wife/girlfriend immediately took the side of the supposed competition, smacking him with her purse, until he tried to shove her away.

"Don't grab hold of women here!" two bikers down the bar yelled.

"What did you say? He called you all DAMNED DEMOCRATS!" howled Amelia.

"Woman's crazy!" the poor biker protested, but that was it. The bar started to light up, an audio loop of (mostly profane) exclamations: "Bitch!" "What the fuck!" "Son of a bitch!" "Who isn't?" "But we need a stimulus plan!"

As any bar worker knows, this pandemonium is the mating call for the next step, violence. It would only take one more tinder on the fire…

"WHAT, YOU DON'T SUPPORT THE TROOPS?" yelled Amelia.

"What the FUCK!" roared a random biker, and it was on. I saw a table turn over as men and women alike jumped to their feet and threw themselves at each other like angry zoo animals.

"I'll help you, honey," Langdon said, his hand "helpfully" grabbing me by one of my boobs.

Oh, hell. With the talent of many a Merlotte's fight under my belt, I snatched up the wait tray on the bar and smashed it over Langdon's head.

"What the FU—" he started, before I gave him a good knee where it counts, spinning away to face another crazed patron—in this case, the woman across the way, who was apparently waiting for this opportunity to take out her hostility on me.

"Whore!"

I sighed, evaded the hands going for my hair, and shoved her downwards.

"Bitch!" Langdon's punch caught me from behind, right in the kidneys, and I cried out. I felt someone punch my face—the woman, I thought distantly, as Langdon would've had more power. My knees were giving way, I suddenly knew.

Across the room, I could hear a familiar voice screaming, but not in fear: "VIKING!"

Time splintered into fragments of seconds as I slammed downwards on my hands, Langdon going down with me.

Well, for a second, anyway. We slammed down on the ground, and then Langdon was gone, with a great crash in the background. A shiny briefcase landed next to me. _I guess he was telling the truth about that briefcase_, I thought dimly.

"Trouble, as always." A voice floated down to me, as I rolled over. I stared at Eric's well-polished shoe, listening to pandemonium break out around us; he was apparently hurling a combination of people and things as I scrambled to my feet, using his leg as my anchor. He lifted me the rest of the way, tucking me behind him. I clutched his briefcase, using it as my own personal shield.

"Side door's open—leave," he said between joyous whoops, throwing beer glasses around. I swear, he was having fun.

"Ame—my roomate's here!" Okay, I didn't think anybody was exactly in condition to see if I dropped my charade or not, but I didn't want to expose Amelia anymore than necessary.

Eric just nodded. "Very well." He ripped off the top of a circular table, making an impromptu shield, and snatched a club out of a bartender's hand. "On our way, then."

Eric started to plow through the masses, sending human beings flying all around us, as I staggered after him, ducking flying objects and looking for insane roommates.

"Move it, bitch!" yelled one guy behind me, and I spun to see Mr. Bear, holding a considerably large knife. He froze, too, and I realized, with annoyance, why—my top had come undone entirely.

"Pig!" I screamed, using the briefcase to block him, while delivering a good sharp kick straight to the crotch.

He doubled over just as Eric, tossing another biker aside, was yanking me back closer to him. "Your talents never cease to amaze, " he said over the din, and I felt a sharp tug at my neck—a hasty knot restoring my top, courtesy of one vampire defender.

"NO!" I looked across Eric and saw Amelia pointing wildly. I followed her gaze—a red-headed nut with a chair was running towards us, a wooden chair, a chair that could make a—

"ERIC, NO!" I screamed and pushed myself forward as fast I could—oh, Jesus, _please--_

"SOOKIE!" I heard him bellow, just as I felt a heck of a lot more pain, something that felt like sharp claws dragging over my face, chest, and arms.

I staggered back, with a chair partly wrapped around me, in me. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, but I didn't have to—I felt a frenzy, clearing the way around me, and suddenly Amelia was there, ripping the wood away—"Sorry, roomie, got to do it the fast way, before boyfriend loses it completely"—as I distantly saw Jerry fall down in the body mass ahead of us, a body mass that now included a very white-faced red-headed man--

I saw the front door ripped off of its hinges and a figure silhouetted in the midnight moon. A female figure—wearing sunglasses at night. A man tried to rush her and she thrust a swift heel of her hand into his throat. Her teeth glinted white. "Don't fuck with a lady."

I saw a beer bottle looming over Amelia's head, waved weakly, and suddenly it was gone. I was floating, I was—I was safe, I was in heaven, I was with Eric, I was in his arms… His blue eyes were the only anchor I had as the world swirled around me, as I heard Amelia ("out, out, let's go") and Pam ("I cannot kill anyone?"), and finally, _him_, leaning over me: "Hold on, hold on to me, Sookie."

And, so help me, I did.

_AN: All political humor is in good fun only. As always, thanks for all reviews! I appreciate the comments._


	36. Chapter 36

I saw a beer bottle looming over Amelia's head, waved weakly, and suddenly it was gone. I was floating, I was—I was safe, I was in heaven, I was bleeding, I was with Eric… His blue eyes were the only anchor I had as the world swirled around me, as I heard Amelia ("out, out, let's go") and Pam ("I cannot kill anyone?"), and finally, _him_, leaning over me: "Hold on to me, Sookie."

And, so help me, I did.

It's weird to pass out—you just go, and then you're not quite sure when you're awake again. I drifted back to reality to discover the following surreal facts: 1.) I was in a moving vehicle—Pam's car, apparently. 2.) I was in pain. I moved my limbs experimentally and groaned. I had deep, stinging gouges all over my arms and chest, plus throbbing pain in my back and face, but none of that terrible, agonizing burn like when I'd been staked out at Club Dead. So, I guess I was better off than I'd been in that debacle.

The third fact threw me even more than the first two. 3.) I was being licked. By Eric, no less, who appeared to be making a comforting noise deep in his throat.

I blinked and tried to get a grip on my situation. I was curled like a doll across Eric's chest and lap, and he was apparently cleaning/healing me, like some big cat cleaning a kitten's fur. And of course, he was clearly enjoying the process, too, given that it required him to take in my blood. I couldn't begrudge him it—I wouldn't have done so if I were awake, and he _was_ healing me—but it was an odd awakening. And not an unpleasant one, I thought, squirming a little, as his tongue swept purposefully across my collarbone.

"Ahhh, the princess awakes," he murmured. "How do you feel, Sookie?"

"You smell delicious," Pam said from the front. "This must be like when the humans go to those places that sell food to eat in the car. Care to share, Eric?"

"Go to hell, I'm not some French fry," I griped into Eric's chest. He shifted me slightly and I groaned.

"Easy," he said, then pressed a finger against my lips when I made to protest the obvious. I was not exactly feeling like jumping to my feet and doing Lord-knows-what just then. "I have cleaned almost all of your upper body wounds. They will heal soon. The rest—we will discuss when we get to your home." His jaw locked into place as he regarded me, and I wondered for the umpteenth time what he was thinking. Whatever it was, it didn't thrill him.

I closed my eyes and let myself drift while Eric stroked my hair and the tires of the Pacifica roared beneath us. I tried to ask about Amelia; Eric either understood my intention or guessed it, for he stopped my mouth again with his fingers and assured me that she was fine and on her way home, too.

I couldn't tell if she'd beaten us home; I'd forgotten to leave a light on, so the house was dark as we approached. Dark and very quiet—Pam opened the door for us, but after that, the only two beings in the place were myself and my quiet escort. Eric carried me silently through the house, maneuvering towards my bedroom. We crossed into the big bedroom and he lowered me to the bed with all the care you'd direct to a newborn. Which, compared to his muscles, I guess I was.

I opened my mouth to speak but he shook his head; feeling like I'd just been run over like one of those poor fellows in that Spanish bull run, I let my head fall back on the pillow, letting Eric take command.

He was still uncharacteristically silent. His hands moved quickly; I'd have thought they were a blur, but then again, my eyes were only half-open. His fingers unlaced and lifted away my top, his eyes scanning my chest for signs of further damage, I guess. Just as quickly, he'd peeled back my skin-tight pants, leaving me just the tiny scrap of fabric that was my underwear.

"Do you mind?" I drew my hands over my chest, and I saw the old Eric flash back into this intense stranger's face. He grinned at me quickly.

"Oh, I do." I stuck my tongue out at him and he just smirked further, suddenly reaching for his own collar. As I gawked, he tossed to the side his ripped jacket, the bloodied shirt and tie, and then he stepped right out of his pants, right in front of me. Even his boxers (with cute pink hearts on them, I noted), were down on the ground. Not that my eyes were there for very long. Some division of my body, entirely disconnected from my pain centers, had started paging every part of my skin it could: _Eric Northman is naked and getting into your bed. _All nerve centers promptly abandoned their bitching about my pain and had started rejoicing in anticipation of something else. What was it with me? I remember when we were looking for Bill at Stan's compound, and even though I'd just been actually staked, Eric had only to start kissing me and all of the pain went away. He was like Advil, or even vamp blood, only ten thousand times better.

Drugs like that can be dangerous. "What are you doing?" I stammered, grabbing at my sheet protectively. Goodness knows we had seen each other and then some, but _still_.

He didn't bother fighting me for the sheet; he just sat, perfectly naked, on the side of the bed next to me. He wasn't even smirking at me anymore, even when I angled my head to get a peek at that one little dimple on his tush. I glanced back at his face and saw no leer, no ready joke at my weakness for his backside. I knew this was a sign of trouble. A grinning Eric was one you could predict. Serious Eric wasn't.

"We must talk."

"You're not exactly dressed to talk," I retorted with a notable degree of suspicion.

In typical Eric style, he went straight for the point. "I want to give you blood." He held up a hand. "You will want to argue, and I can already anticipate what you will say. But you are injured and you will remain so for some days, unless we take prompt action. I can either take you to the human hospital—"—and here Eric wrinkled his nose, which I thought was funny; you'd think a hospital to vamps would be like visiting a bakery for humans—"—or I give you my blood. Those are your choices, Sookie."

"And what if I choose neither?"

"Not an option." Eric began to crawl over me, his face fierce and wild, and I shivered, although the thin sheet separated my skin from his. "You were injured for me." He kept staring at me, as if trying to figure out something puzzle. Finally, he blinked. "You must stop this."

"Stop what?" I was barely touching him, just resting my hands on the sides of his torso, which he held over mine.

He lowered his face so that our noses were almost touching. "Getting injured. I do not care for it." I nearly laughed, but the look on his face told me he was serious.

"Really, Eric, what else could I have done? I'm not Buffy, after all, and the chair was—well, it was coming at you."

"So?" His eyebrow was raised.

"So? So? You could've been ki—it could've staked you!" I felt myself start to tear up. It wasn't hard, given that I was running out of adrenaline, the pain in my body was starting to bubble up once more, and something in this conversation was just sitting wrong with me.

"So?" He asked again, his eyes slits focused on me.

"Don't even talk like that!" I said reflexively, and my arms, in full mutiny, slid around him of their own accord.

He stared at my teary face for one second more, nodded tightly, then kissed me quickly. "No more of this for now. I want to give you my blood."

"Fine." I was hardly pleased but I realized my options were limited. I shifted in the bed; it really hurt where Langdon had punched me in the back, and I knew my face was going to look like a Skittles rainbow tomorrow. "But just enough to heal, okay?"

"Very well." He rolled to the side of me, and before I could say anything else, he'd bit into his own wrist, offering it to me.

There's no etiquette for drinking from a vamp, no way of doing it in a tidy fashion. I took his wrist and pulled it to my lips, pushing myself to just get it started. This was always the hardest part, because frankly, how many humans actually _want _to drink blood? I had to steel myself to what I was doing, even though Eric was perfectly willing—and to be frank, would really enjoy the process.

Vamps (or at least male vamps, I've found) get a real kick out of distributing their blood. Eric pulled me back in his arms and I realized this is why he'd undressed us both. The first time he'd given me blood, I'd had on a nightgown and he wore his boxers (although I could feel very movement of his body against me). Now, with a lot more History between us, I guess he felt like there was no need for such barriers.

Eric's hips were rubbing his lower body against me with clear intention, and he was making distinctively pleased noises. I'd be lying if I said that didn't do something for me, or that I didn't start playing with my technique—pulling with my lips, licking with my tongue, toying with my teeth—just to work him up further. A lot further, I admit; whatever I was doing to him, his moans were driving me to distraction too.

"Sookie," he growled my name, and I felt a sudden shock of air as he kicked the sheets downward, to be closer to me. Empowered by his response, and suddenly feeling (thanks to the combined magic of vamp blood and Viking lover) more than a little bit sassy myself, I pushed myself back towards him.

"Oh!" My lips fell away from his wrist just as his other hand slipped down between my legs, cupping my center, then dipping within. I uttered another incoherent exclamation as his invading fingers started to light me on fire, now even more sure than the first time he touched me, back in Stan's compound. I felt like everything beneath my hips was molten lava, stirred beneath Eric's cool, silky fingers.

"Amazing, you are amazing," his rough voice, his soft lips, were at my ear, as his other hand came up around me to cup my breasts, which were on full alert for him. His fingers rubbed and then tweaked the flesh of my nipples, rising up for his attention. I cried out as now two of his fingers went all the way up in me, creating a very distinctive beat. My hips shifted frantically, rotating, grinding, following his lead.

"Eric, Eric," I said helplessly, gripping and pulling up the bedding, as our positioning made it difficult for me to grab him.

"No other shall have you." He lifted my leg and suddenly, in a burst of heat, he was there, in me, opening me, filling me, and we were moving together, our hands now interlocked against the mattress. With each thrust, I felt his hands tighten across mine, the rub of the sheet burning against the heel of my hands. I closed my eyes and listened to the words he was muttering as he moved against me, words of another language, punctuated with words of my own. "_Lover, lover, lover,_" he breathed against my skin in almost a hiss at one point; if I didn't feel like I was going to erupt already, I would have. "_Sookie, my Sookie_." The words themselves came distantly to my consciousness, but, caught up in our loving, I barely registered them. His mouth was buried into my neck, the lips branding the words against my skin, pushed into me with each sharp swing of his hips. I could only exclaim wordlessly as I heard something that called back a bubble of heaven with this body, this man. "_All mine will honor you." _ I was on the verge of bliss, as he turned my face urgently to his. If eyes ever spoke, his were roaring. "_Now, lover." _His clever hand moved between us, still surging together, his body thick within me. Before I could blink, he was rubbing me just-so, and he pushed me over that brink, my eyes still joined to his blazing blue ones.

I reeled, gasping, in his arms, listening to my own raw, sobbing exclamations of joy and something else. Alongside me, Eric was finishing, my name falling rapid-fire from his lips as his body crushed itself against me.

He moved to lift off me but I reached back to grab his thigh. "Stay." I eased my hand, rubbing it up and down the wall of flexing muscle there. I moved my hips still, savoring the intimate connection, relishing in the feel of him against me, in me.

"Of course." His lips brushed my ear as he spoke and I shivered. He shifted slightly to distribute the press of his body more evenly. I twisted to slip a hand around his neck, to hold him to me. Feeling his skin—almost heated from my body—against my palm, his hair drift over my fingers, made me think of those horrible moments when I saw the chair swinging towards him. I closed my eyes.

"Problem?" he murmured quietly to me.

"Eric," I said, and moved away from him carefully. He hissed in regret as I drew us apart, but made a growl of contentment when I fell back against the bed, drawing him over me. His eyes swept mine for a message, some message. "I don't want to talk tonight." His brows lowered in confusion and he began to shift his weight back, as if to go. I pulled him forward again, over me. Now his brows were rising in question.

"I said…I don't want to _talk_ tonight," I whispered. His eyes glowed down at me.

"Done," he said simply, and lowered his mouth to mine.

I woke up the next morning more than a little tired and sore. Eric had taken his assignment very seriously, intending on keeping us occupied until dawn made him retreat to who-knows-where. I hoped he was in the old hidey-hole; something about the idea of having him near, even asleep, comforted me like an old blanket about my shoulders might.

I headed into the shower and cleaned up. We would still have to talk soon, of course. I had yet to tell him anything I'd heard at all during the expedition to Tracks. I was more than a little surprised he hadn't been insistent on getting that information from me first, to be honest, but it didn't seem a priority to him. My hand closed over the soap on the wall nervously. Other things had.

I sighed, enjoying the inexpensive pleasure of a hot shower. I had no idea what to make of last night. Sure, we hadn't talked, but hadn't we, in a way? Eric and I had been all over each other in every possible way in the past, yet something about last night seemed very different. I wiped my face of shower spray and stubbornly pushed that thought aside. I was probably just worked up from the bar fight, anyway, or having Eric's blood, which had always stirred my libido before. And if other parts of my body, other than my libido, had seemed to call for him, well, that was probably just my imagination.

I toweled off, tossed on some clothes, and headed out to the living room. I could hear the TV on, blaring some sports show. It could only me one thing.

"Jason," I sighed, walking in to find my brother on my couch.

"Oh, hey, Sook." He glanced up and over. "Thought I'd check in. Your roomie said it was okay yesterday?"

"Yeah, sure," I fumbled, not knowing what to say. Sure, Jason had seen a lot of Supe weirdness, but was he ready an answer that went like this: _yes, Jason, I took a chair over the head and got beat up, but Eric gave me his blood and spent last night giving me some—well, a lot of--sexual healing_?

I thought not.

I looked down at him again. He was punching the buttons on a red cell phone. "You get a new phone?"

"Nah," he shook his head. "Found your friend's cell here—guess she dropped it." His fingers were still moving on the keypad, I noticed.

My friend's—oh! The very Jason (that is, unethical) nature of the situation dawned on me. "Give that here—what are you doing? I hope you're not screwing up her address book or anything—"

"Nah, just looking at her pictures." Jason winked and held the phone up for better viewing.

And that's when I recognized the device in his hand, from a time another man held it. It was Eric's phone, and his last pictures were of—oh, my. Oh, no. Oh, Jesus.

"Wow! Nice rack!" Jason whistled. "Thank your friend for taking this…" He leaned in closer. "What size are those puppies? Like to get my hands on--"

"No, Jason, no!" I started to scream, just as he hit another button—to zoom in, zoom out? "It's not Amelia, it's—"

Amelia was suddenly in the room with us. "What's going on—"

She didn't have time to get it out, anymore than I had time to vault across the couch and pluck the phone out of his hands. Jason's bellow could've awakened the dead; I'm sure Bill, and Eric, if he were around, both heard it.

"OH, SWEET JESUS, SOOKIE! MY EYES!"

He threw the phone across the room, still screaming, and grabbed a cushion to put over his face, making gagging noises while still swearing. "JESUS, SHIT, FUCK!" He threw the cushion to the side, rubbing his eyes frantically, then looked up at us. "What the HELL were you doing like that and why the FUCK does she have your—oh, my SHIT, are you two—"

"NO!" Amelia and I yelled as one.

"Look, Stackhouse, just shut up," Amelia snarled, apparently not liking the assessing gaze Jason was turning to her. "That's Eric's phone, not mine."

"Eric? Eric? Oh, that big vamp? Ohhhh." Jason for once seemed relieved to hear I was consorting with vampires still. Then his eyes narrowed. "Wait a second! What the hell is he doing with your picture like—" He saw us glance at each other and shrug. Amelia actually giggled, then shot him a glare.

"You're the one who perved over your own sister!"

He pointed at her angrily. "Don't you even—even--even—I didn't know!" Jason flopped back with an angry sigh, holding his hands over his face. "This is just fucking SICK and I'm going to tell him so. Sook, can you delete that picture off his camera?"

"Why should I?" I said, just to annoy him. After all, he'd probably just broken Eric's phone in his fit of temper. "He liked that picture. He thought it was very sexy," I added, just to torture Jason some more.

"Jesus, I can't talk to you right now," Jason exclaimed, grabbing his jacket and storming out of the house.

Behind me, I heard Amelia giggle. I glanced back to see she was twirling a man's tie in her hands. "He thought it was very sexy, eh?"

I snatched the tie away. "Oh, hush. He must've forgotten that."

"He didn't forget the note." Amelia grinned. I looked down, startled, as my hands crossed over a piece of paper pinned to the tie.

"_Save this for next time—yours, E."_

_AN: Thanks as always for your input! _


	37. Chapter 37

_AN: In the last chapter, I made an error and referred to the compound as Stan's, when it should have been Russell's. My apologies!_

"He didn't forget the note." Amelia grinned. I looked down, startled, as my hands crossed over a piece of paper pinned to the tie.

"_Save this for next time—yours, E."_

I tossed the tie to the side and gave Amelia a warning look. "What a joker. Look, I haven't had breakfast, want a bite?"

"Sure," Amelia said, following me into the kitchen. We'd been roomies long enough that we functioned easily together in the kitchen—no small feat, that. In just a few minutes, we'd whipped up some bacon and eggs. (I had considered going light, but I was still irritated over the Jason incident and wanted to cook to distract myself.)

"So." Amelia's knife clattered against her plate noisily, and I was a little glad Gran wasn't with us to upbraid us for abusing her silverware. "What-all did you find out yesterday? I never did get the low-down from you after the bar brawl."

I chewed my toast thoughtfully. I was tempted to confide that technically, no one had received the "low-down," given that Eric and I had been otherwise...occupied, but I wasn't in the mood to fend off Amelia's risqué jokes just then. "Well…I'm not sure, to be honest." I took a gulp of juice, as Amelia traced a circle in the air to hurry me up, and then launched into my report. "As best I can figure out, that guy Langdon—the one whose print was on the bomb, on Eric's car—was hired to plant the bomb. He was definitely thinking about the money he got, and he didn't seem to give off any kind of specific motive otherwise. I mean, he didn't give off any kind of feeling about having experience with vampires." Well, before last night, I thought, but wondered if Pam or Eric had glamored anybody in the bar. Would Langdon even remember it?

"So who paid him off?" Amelia attacked her bacon with a scowl.

"I'm not sure, he didn't remember it clearly." My fingers tightened over my silverware, lining them up precisely on the edge of the plate as I thought. "I know he was thinking about a friend, and the only friend he mentioned was this guy, Jerry. So I am inclined to think Jerry's part of this mess."

"And how does Quinn's company come in? That's why I knew we were up Shit Creek last night, when I saw them come in." Amelia had never been Quinn's biggest fan.

"That's another 'don't know.' Jerry's brother works there, according to Langdon; he might've said something about either himself or Jerry temping there, I'm not sure." I dug into my memory and cursed. Telepathy doesn't come with perfect recall, unfortunately.

Amelia shrugged. "So it all goes back to Quinn, then?"

"No, I can't believe that!" And I couldn't, I thought, staring out the window. No matter what happened between us, he just wasn't that type of guy. Plus, he'd been so friendly when I'd visited him with Eric before—but was that some kind of territorial bullshit, put on just because Eric was present? Could I have been fooled by yet another man in my life?

I shook my head to knock away those thoughts. Gran didn't raise me to whine, whether it was to myself or anybody else. I stared down at my napkin and assessed the facts, which all seemed to go back to Quinn. No matter if he were involved or not (and he probably was not, I told myself firmly), at the very least, I might get a name of Jerry's brother, which would help us to get to the roots of Jerry's connection to the attack son Fangtasia and its leaders.

I groaned and pushed my plate aside. Yep, my way was clear—I was going to have to visit Quinn. Oh, hell with it, I might as well just get it over with—an idea I ran by Amelia. I'd go check out E(E)E later today, and have the scoop all ready for when I next ran into Eric and Pam. (Which I was willing to bet would be tonight, now that I was fully healed, and both Eric and I were clothed again.)

Amelia, to my surprise, was not game for this bit of investigative independence.

"This is not a good idea," Amelia hovered by my shoulder as I dug my half-dead cell phone from my purse, making a mental note to show Pam how to plug in my phone during my next half-beaten episode. "Why do you want to run off right away there?"

"I'm not going right away—I'll go after dinner." To be truthful, it wasn't out of personal preference. The reality is most businesses that catered to Supes didn't have a lot of daylight hours.

"But what's Loverboy going to say?"

I cringed to hear her describe Eric that way, but what could I say? "It's not his problem," I told her coolly. She looked skeptical, and I glared, daring her to utter any phrase that included the word "his." Maybe she'd gotten telepathic herself, because she kept silent. "I'll just tell him afterwards. If he even needs to know," I added. "This could be one wild goose chase, after all."

"Riiight," Amelia drawled, frowning. "Because he's going to be so happy to find out you're hiding little encounters with your past guys from him."

"I don't see how it's anything to him," I shot back defensively.

Her expression implied I was an idiot and then some. "Oh, right, he has no feelings for you. None. Not when he's been pretty much shacking up over here."

"He has not!" My voice was even pitched like a child's; I flinched to hear it.

"No, I just heard the ghost of him here all night." Amelia snorted. "I wish you'd get a clue."

When did Amelia become Eric's cheerleader, I wondered irritably. "Fine, here, I'll text him. Now he knows where I am. You happy?"

Amelia just rolled her eyes and walked around me, leaving me alone and still a bit fired up, I'll admit. I started cleaning the kitchen savagely, throwing my muscles into the scrubbing. What was Amelia about, anyway? Eric and I—well, I thought, as tackled the frying pan with all of the power in my arm—we had something, even if it wasn't defined. Lord knows, I had no intention of jumping any other guy any time soon, and I didn't get the impression he was bagging any fangbangers when I wasn't around.

I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror over the sink. _God, I hope he isn't._

I shook my head again. At any rate, we were…okay. Not in the slightest defined, but okay. Friends, even. Who had fabulous, fantastic sex…

Okay, that was so not going to help me finish the dishes. I firmly guided my brain back into safe, painful territory. Eric might be looking to have sex with me (and often), but dating was another issue entirely, and there was no reason to believe he'd want….

Oh, hell.

I brushed my face off and scoured the rest of the dishes, resolutely contemplating the local political debates and the big scandal about the high school football coach getting replaced. Too friendly with the cheerleaders, I'd heard. I'd been one, briefly—until the thoughts in guys' heads drove me to the point of tossing down my pom-poms. That reinforced my image of "Crazy Sookie," since what girl would willingly quit cheerleading? And so I stayed pretty much untouchable, the girl who didn't date, until the vamps—including a big blond one who would have made any quarterback look a wimp in comparison--

Oh, hell.

I grabbed my jacket and stormed out of the house to run a few errands. It was time to get the supplies ready for an oil change (Terry Bellefleur had promised to help me do it this time, as Jason was so irregular), I had books to pick up at the library, a few little gifts to pick up—just the kinds of things a normal girl would be doing, one who wasn't neck-deep in Supe politics and all the danger it entailed, one who _wanted_ to live a nice, full long life--

And I found myself on the highway to Shreveport, regardless. I knew Quinn's staff would help me, even if Quinn himself were out of town—and to be honest, I kind of hoped he was. (So much for Eric's claim that I'm brave.) I waited until the last minute, just as I pulled in the parking lot, to tell him I was en route.

If I'd worried about fall-out from my last time there, I was wrong. "Babe!" he exclaimed as I was ushered into his office. I winced. Funny, that nickname had never particularly bothered me until Eric's rants about it. His hands, big hands, took mine and guided me to a nearby chair. "What brings you here?"

He perched on the edge of his desk, listening to me, as I rattled off a highly edited version of my story: "You remember when I was here before, Quinn—I'm looking for one guy, maybe two, in your files."

He frowned. "But you didn't see anybody before?"

"No, I didn't. This is kind of a needle in a haystack mission, but I've got to try. It wouldn't be right, not to."

He shrugged and handed me the files of employee photos his secretary brought in. "Well, you are welcome to try, of course, Babe. Need help?"

"No, thanks, I've got to look at these myself," I told him, and he shrugged again, informing me he'd just be at his computer.

So that's how I ended up spending a solid hour pushing photographs around on Quinn's desk, looking for anybody who resembled the mysterious Jerry, or Jerry himself. Quinn himself seemed mostly absorbed in his own work, although we chatted lightly back-and-forth about our jobs and lives. (We mostly skipped family, as that was a sore spot for both of us.)

At the end of my hour, though, I hadn't come up with a single item that was new. You try spotting the adult sibling of a guy you've seen in the flesh just twice. It makes for a pretty crappy parlor game, I've got to tell you.

I sat there, rubbing my temples, frowning down at the pictures. How on earth was I going to narrow down this mess and get more information on this Jerry? The answer had to be here somewhere—

"You look so tired, babe." I jumped as Quinn's hands descended upon my shoulders, giving them a warm squeeze.

"Yeah…just trying to figure this out," I stammered.

"Why are you even in this? Shouldn't Northman be solving his own problems?"

"His problems are _my _problems when people start trying to kill me," I shot back tartly. It's hard not to get defensive when people are trying to kill you, after all.

Quinn, sensing my irritation, slid into the chair next to me, facing the spread of ID photos. They looked, as all ID photos everywhere inevitably do, like mugshots taken in some underground prison. Even the cuter guys looked undead, and not in an Eric way.

"I wish he'd leave you out of this, though," Quinn was saying, his big fingers tapping the desk near mine. "You always try so hard, babe. You're always the one taking the hit for everybody else."

I bit my lip; it was hard not to break down and gripe. I've got problems, but who doesn't? And I kept the secret of last night close to my chest; Lord knows what Quinn would think if he knew I'd (literally) taken the hit for Eric. Instead, I just shrugged feebly. "Yes, sure, but that doesn't change the reality, Quinn. Someone wants to kill or harm Eric and Pam, and probably me, too, from the looks of things."

Quinn cursed under his breath, still staring at the photos. "I'll keep looking around, but I'll be damned if I've heard anything, babe." His hand slid over to take mine, and he suddenly turned his face to me. "You know I'd tell you, don't you?"

"Err….yes." I tried to wiggle my hand away subtly; I didn't want to be offensive.

He didn't let go, instead leaning into me. "I'm on your side, babe. I've always been on your side."

"I know…" Okay, red flags were going up everywhere in my head just now. Maybe coming here alone wasn't such a good idea?

"And you were on my side, too, until those bastards spooked you," he continued, a barely controlled throb of pain in his voice. His voice suddenly lowered. "You can't tell me that what we had wasn't hot."

I fidgeted; my hands weren't being released and I didn't know where to look. All I could hear were his words, and yes, okay, he had a point there. Quinn had been my first human lover and although he had a lot to live up to (a lot, for sure), he certainly did a fine job in that department. I couldn't say I had any complaints about our short encounters together.

"I'm sorry," I only said, looking down at our hands. I didn't know what else to tell him.

"Don't be," he said suddenly, and before I could react, his lips were against mine.

"Ooomph." The air whooshed out of me as I was crushed against him; he was pulling me up, to standing, and his hands were everywhere, rubbing, grabbing, tightening. I'd be a fool to say I was entirely insensible to this—after all, I'd slept with the man before, and my body knew only that I'd had some very, very, very nice times with Quinn indeed.

"No, Quinn, _no_," I gasped, turning my face to the side, drawing my arms to my chest to try to wiggle away.

Quinn lifted his head, his flashing dark eyes regarding me hotly, desperately. "Tell me you don't want this. Tell me we weren't meant to be, babe."

I wish I could say I screamed at him, cursed him, called him names, but instead I just started to tear up—crying for my own screwed-up love life, crying for Quinn, who wouldn't get it, and had hung all of his hopes of happiness on me. "Quinn, I said—"--I paused and turned my head just as Quinn's mouth plunged down again—"get the hell off!"

Quinn might have faults, but forcing himself on women wasn't one of them. He did let me go, although reluctantly, and he rubbed his mouth with clear chagrin. "Sorry about that, babe—"

"You should be!"

He shrugged. "I had to take a chance. I wish you would, too."

He was still too close, his hands running up and down my upper arms, so I stepped back, out of reach. "Please let me be." He started to interrupt me and I shook my head firmly. "I appreciate your help, and maybe I should have realized coming here might give you…expectations…but nothing's changed, Quinn. About us," I added, looking at the ground.

"Oh, something's changed," he shot back in a sour tone. "Gave in to Northman, didn't you?"

"That's none of your business!"

"I can smell him all over you, you know," Quinn growled, leaving over his desk at me. "Your heartbeat even picks up when I mention his name."

"Maybe that's because it's really creepy of you to be talking about him—or me, for that matter. I don't take kindly to your speculation on my life, Quinn. You're better than that."

He shrugged and sat down fluidly, like the cat he was. "Maybe. But good guys seem to finish last with you."

"That is unfair!"

"Maybe—but it's true." He kept his eyes fixed on the desk, studying the grain.

I was getting ready to unload upon him, but I bit my tongue savagely. What was the point? "Quinn, I think I'd better head out before we say things that we don't mean. I appreciate you helping me out, and I'll talk to you later." I grabbed my purse and marched out, past the red-headed secretary who gave me a startled look.

"What are _you_ looking at?" I snarled—probably not the first such noise he'd heard in Quinn's offices, but definitely not my shining moment of courtesy. Gran would not have been proud.

That thought just made me weepy-eyed as I stomped back to my car, brushing off the hot sting of pointless tears. Pointless for Quinn, pointless for Gran, pointless for the frustration of not getting anywhere in my search to make Er—to make the Fantagasia folks safer. Even the song on the radio, a ballad, made me sniffle harder, remembering Bill's bad taste in music and how I'd missed his awful Kenny G after we'd broken up.

"Oh, hell." I was in a crappy mood, no doubt about it. All I needed was some touching Hallmark commercial and I'd be a complete mess. I floored it back home to Bon Temps, belting out that new Kelly Clarkson song and trying to force myself to cheer up.

On the console, my phone vibrated; at the next light, I picked it up. _Shit_—many missed calls. I flipped the phone on the speaker setting, hit my voicemail, and kept an eye on the light.

"The Master wishes to speak with you." It was Pam's voice, no doubt about it. "He seems to be missing his…toy."

"Oh, shit!" I'd forgotten Eric's cell phone. Here I was, leaving Shreveport, and I could've brought it with me. I felt a warm thrill at the thought of swinging by Fangtasia just to drop it off, but shoved that thought aside.

_Beep_. The next message came on. "He wishes me to send you one of these 'texts.' I do not care for that. You will come." _Beep_. "He says he has a gift for you. A large gift. And I do not relay filthy messages, so it is not what you think." _Beep_. "You are a foolish girl. Why do you not answer? I hope you have not gone off and finally gotten yourself killed." _Beep_. A final, irritated hiss: "You had better call us, at least. The Master is worse than he is on Dracula Night."

I laughed at that a little—poor Pam, dealing with a wound-up Eric. I'd seen first-hand how_, _er, exuberant he could be. Why was he so energized tonight, though? There was nothing special going on in the vamp world, minus the fact I'd hoped to have a chat with—

Oh, hell! I'd even forgotten my intention to update Eric and Pam on the results of my (failed) mission at Quinn's. Or to tell them what I'd heard at the bar the other night.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" I bonked my head lightly on my steering wheel. (Lightly, because having almost lost said head a number of times now, I don't abuse it easily.)

It was not my day.

Succumbing to self-pity, I finally pulled into the full lot of Merlotte's. Even though I wasn't working, I needed a good drink and some cheerful company. At least enough to make sure I wasn't going to go home and collapse on my bed in a pity-party fit.

I waved to Sam, who gave me a concerned glance as I entered, no doubt sensing my mood was off. He even had a gin and tonic in front of me just as I sat down.

"On the house," he said before I protested. His hand patted the wall of the booth next to him. "Let me know if you want some company." I nodded and glanced around the room for other friendly faces—there was Tara, over there with JB, looking radiant (how could she be so happy with a guy that was dumber than a brick was beyond me, but then again, he was pretty as a picture), Arlene (scowling a bit at me), Terry (waving at me from the kitchen), and oh, at the end of the bar, my dear brother, who took one look at me and promptly threw himself at the giant beer glass in front of him. Next to him, Hoyt even threw me an apologetic look. I'd have felt sorry for him, but I was too busy with my own issues to have much mercy on him.

I was worn down and feeling low, and so I made the mistake of letting my guards down a bit. The thoughts pounding around the bar started to pound into my brain, too:

_Color in that ad is _not _the color that was in the damned box, look at my hair, it's not Julia Roberts red at all…_

_Wonder if that ShamWow really does work, my truck could use a wash…_

_Wonder why Jason's so upset? He hasn't hit on a girl tonight. Truth be told, I was always hoping he'd settle down a bit and not be so fast—makes it easier for me a bit…_

_I'm so glad I got JB, he's the perfect guy…_

_Sookie sure has a great rack. Wonder if I get Tara up for a threesome…_

_Damn, my neck itches. Got to remember to avoid humans who insist on putting flea collars on me…_

_Look at Crazy Sookie Stackhouse sitting all by herself over there. Girl's a loon, but damn fine body on her. Think I'll give it a shot._

"This seat taken?" Roy Benson, who was a receiver on my brother's high school football team, stood across from me, smirking. _Sugar, tell me yes and I'll hit you like you ain't ever been hit before._

Did I mention I'd always disliked Roy?

"Sorry, Roy, I'm not good company tonight," I responded, stalling. I knew Gran wouldn't like me turning aside a polite request, but still. Even Gran wouldn't put up with sleaze.

"Oh, but I'm real good company," he said back, and Jesus, he rubbed the back of the booth in a lascivious manner. His thoughts were running in the expected manner, and I struggled to put my shields up, distracted as I was by the onslaught of graphic images about myself and—ugh—himself.

Which is why my brain was open to an explosion of curses that lit up the room just after the main door clicked shut. I glanced over and saw a cold-faced Viking striding toward me, in some kind of—I blinked—a trenchcoat?

He put his hand on Roy and pushed him to the side, as easily and thoughtlessly as you move a laundry cart next to you. "Lover, I have been attempting to contact you."

"Buddy, the lady was enjoying my company," said Roy. Leave it to Roy: Sleazy doesn't always mean stupid, but it did in this case.

Eric shot Roy a cold glance and Roy, to his credit, puffed out his chest further. Eric merely smiled, and slid his eyes to me. "Oh, no, _the lady _will be enjoying _this_." The coat fell, as did the jaws of all the women (and most of the men) in the room.

The lycra—that awful, obscene, hilarious lycra—had returned.


	38. Chapter 38

Eric shot Roy a cold glance and Roy, to his credit, puffed out his chest further. Eric merely smiled, and slid his eyes to me. "Oh, no, the lady will be enjoying this." The coat fell, as did the jaws of all the women (and most of the men) in the room.

The lycra—that awful, obscene, hilarious lycra—had returned.

The brains in the room erupted into thought, just as several glasses dropped. Taken off-guard already, I couldn't ward them off in time:

_Come to Mama! _

_That's just right indecent, that is. Wait, is my wife looking?_

_I don't care about the shitty fashion. But the body, ooooooooh, yes…_

_He's got to be stuffing it. He's GOT to be. _

_Wonder if he's new at Hooligan's? I'd tip him something special any day… _

_Oh, my stars. I think I better get that new blood pressure medication, after all._

And so on.

He'd never mentioned what he did with the outfit after the orgy/massacre, and I'd always assumed he'd thrown it away, since where else was he going to wear it? Eric was not the kind of guy you automatically associated with tights—under normal circumstances, anyway. But he'd apparently retrieved the ensemble, and here, in the middle of Merlotte's, he was modeling it again—a pink tank top that hugged his upper body like the outfit of a gymnast or a circus performer, low-cut to show off the curve of his pecs and the hint of darker blond hair there, and beneath that…those leggings. Oh, those leggings. They should have been hideous—aqua and pink swirls—and maybe they were, but I'm afraid I went a bit color-blind on this count. The outfit hugged. And fit. And stretched, I noticed, and swallowed. Clearly, this fabric was…strong…

"Aren't you going to ask me to sit down with you, lover?" Eric asked, jerking me out of my contemplation of—well, okay, not his face, all right? Caught, I looked up at him, and he winked. "Oh, wait, perhaps I should order a drink." He spun dramatically, supposedly to wave to Sam, who merely glowered at him. Regardless of his motive, that left my favorite ass(et) of his pointing in my direction. I was tempted to give him a good pinch, but we were in public. As-is, my brain could barely take the fresh wave of thoughts coming my way—his way, really—

_Oh, hot DAMN, did you see when he turned sideways? Guess Sookie ain't so crazy after all…_

_I'm never going to get laid again. Every woman in this town is going to be thinking of that guy instead of her man._

_Now I know why she got rid of the other one. _

_Oh, hell, I looked. Does that make me gay?_

_Didn't I see him in Playgirl? Had some giant fur over his thing? I've got to get that issue back from Sarah, shit! _

_Hell, the problem won't be the wife thinking of him. _I'll _be thinking of him_. _I'm never gonna be able to get it up again, God damn it. _

_If I close my eyes tonight and tell Bart to just shut up, maybe…_

"You can sit, I guess." I rolled my eyes just to show I wasn't taken in by this little act, no matter how much I was fighting a giggle. Besides, he was preening already from the public lust he'd inspired—he didn't need me salivating over him. (Although of course I was. Trust me, Eric might be dead, but I'm surely not.)

"I will, then." He tossed his jacket into the booth, still leaning against the frame there, waiting for his drink. He glanced over at Roy, who was still standing there looking a bit, well, overwhelmed. I didn't blame him. Eric shrugged and made a slight "scoot" gesture with his hand, and a crestfallen Roy seemed to come out of his haze enough to stumble off.

"Did you glamour him?" I whispered. If Eric were human, he'd have never heard me over the thumping daytime music of the bar. But then again, he wasn't, so we didn't have to worry about that.

"No." He arched an eyebrow as I slid out of my booth, taking my water and Eric's blood from Sam so that he didn't have to walk all the way across the room to us. "He's just a tad outclassed." Eric grinned and I swatted him on the forearm.

"Don't be an ass!"

"But what an ass it is." I stiffened as Brandi Beckins, who was just a year ahead of me in school, sidled up to Eric. You would know Brandi even if you'd never met her before—on the rare occasion we got a new (and cute) guy at school, she was all over him. If you saw her at a party, she'd be leaving that night with the hottest guy there. If you were talking up a guy as a possible Sadie Hawkins date, guess-who would sweep in and nab him. (Tara had wanted to spike her drink because of that, but I could never bring myself to do that.) It wasn't because of her looks. As Jason had once tried to comfort me, feeling blue at watching another crush fall prey to her charms, it was because she's "damn easy, and a man likes that. Sorry, Sook. But he probably is just out for some fun, okay? So he'll be wanting a date with you later, I'm sure of it."

Jason's efforts at comforting me just made me irritated all over again, and seeing Brandi didn't help. Nor did it help that she was standing close to Eric, as only Brandi would—how many women would have that confidence? And she was smiling at him, and saying something—the fuzz in my head parted, so I could hear this:

"So what do you with that lovely ass? I'm sure Sookie's not up for giving you the spanking you deserve." And with that I saw the woman's hand reach around and—oh, yes, I throwing down my drink now, just as I saw Eric's eyebrows go up—grab Eric's butt.

Oh, yes. She did.

I saw her hand touch that perfect curve, my perfect curve, and I was very, very glad I was no vampire, because Lord help us if I was, at that moment. I stepped forward, knocked her hand away, and without the slightest hesitation, put both of my hands on Eric's rear end and squeezed defiantly.

"This would be _my_ ass, and I'll thank you to keep your hands off of it and him, Brandi Beckins!"

She looked slightly rattled, possibly because I was baring my teeth—an effect of being around the vamps too long, I'm sure. "And if I don't?"

"Then I'll see you and your fake nails outside," I hissed, as Brandi squawked in protest.

"Ladies, please," Sam was saying, popping up by Brandi's elbow and trying to guide her back.

"Oh, yes, ladies, please," Eric said cheerfully. His arms had gone around me. I gave him a hard squeeze in reprimand. "Spoilsport," he shot down at me, before glancing over at the sullen Brandi, his face now suddenly hard. "A warning: touch a vampire without consent, and you may find yourself lacking more than manners."

Sam guided the huffing Brandi away, while I reluctantly took my hands northward, to grab Eric's elbow. "Come on, we're going out back."

He grabbed his coat and allowed me to lead him. "You want to make out with me so soon? You cannot wait to be alone with me?"

"I'm thinking," I snarled, pushing him through the doorway, "that Sam doesn't want any more drama from indecent vampire exposure. What on earth made you wear that get-up, anyway?"

We'd exited out into the moon-lit parking lot. Eric paused, catching my hand and making me look back at him. "I told you before I would, and so I did. See?" And if I hadn't had a chance to ogle before, he turned around in a slow circle for me.

"So you just thought to pour yourself into—_that_—and come see me?" It is very hard to speak while drooling, I have noticed.

"Yes," he said earnestly.

"You're in a rare mood. What's got you all rosy?"

He pulled me into him, as if he were leading me in a dance. "Perhaps I enjoyed myself greatly last night."

"Bar fights are your thing, huh?"

"Then I'm in perfect company." He winked.

I rolled my eyes. "So you decided to tease me by invading my work pretty much naked?"

He nodded virtuously. "And of course, I had to come get my cell phone."

"Oh, yes! I forgot it, it's—"

"In your car already. I picked it up at your house and left it in the car when I arrived here." He patted his waist with emphasis. "No pockets." Eric smiled at me again and I couldn't resist smiling back.

"I can see."

"Do you really want to see? Or maybe inspect?" He waggled his eyebrows and I laughed.

"I am not doing this in the middle of Merlotte's parking lot!"

"Why not," he said, but he didn't seem angry. He just sounded amused, as he backed me, giggling, up against my car and leaned over me. I braced for one of his toe-tingling kisses, but instead he leaned in, his face settling into serious lines. "You've felt so sad tonight, lover. What causes this mood?" His mouth curved upward impishly. "Missing me?"

"How could I, you never leave," I said, sticking out my tongue. Eric just smirked at me, and I suddenly knew why, why all of this charade.

"You came to cheer me up?"

He snorted, as if the idea were impossible. "If that means having sex with you. That always cheers me up." He winked.

I rolled my eyes again but allowed my arms to slide around his torso. It's a good thing Eric couldn't read minds, because what I was thinking probably would've offended his ego.

It was clear he wasn't reading my mind, anyway—he'd leaned in to nuzzle my neck. But no lips brushed my skin. Instead, his body froze over me, tightening up as if he really were made of white marble.

"Lover." The word was uttered with a lack of expression that made my toes curl, and not in a good way. "Tell me why I want a tiger head mounted on my wall right now?"

I shivered slightly, my hands still on his back, and he lifted his head to watch my face. His own was a near-perfect mask, given away only by the slight flare of his nostrils and the rapid movement of his eyes across my face.

"It was nothing." I tried to distract him by pulling slightly on his chest, but even that didn't take him off his guard. "I saw him earlier for a few minutes, no more than that. It was no biggie."

"He was too close to you for a _no biggie_. What happened." There was no question in Eric's tone.

"I don't see how that's your business. I'm not your employee." I took my arms off of his chest and folded them over my own.

"You are protecting him." Eric's face was nose-to-nose to mine. "Why?"

"I don't see why you're so worked up." I pulled back and went for another tactic. "I didn't know you were the keeper of my appointments."

His eyebrow flicked upwards but he avoided my provocation, pressing onwards. "What did he do?" I huffed in exasperation, but he ignored me, pushing closer and drawing in my scent. "He was too close to you. You smell of fear." Eric growled suddenly, and I shivered again.

"Maybe it's of you," I muttered.

Abruptly, his face was before mine again.

"No," he said simply.

"No," I whispered weakly.

Not quite knowing what to say, I fell back into a dazed silence for a few seconds. That was all it took—Eric suddenly had my arm lifted in front of me, so that I could see in the moonlight what he saw.

"Who gave you this?" His fingers were tracing the bruise on my skin, so light I found it hard to see.

I could've lied, but I saw at a glance the jig was up. Eric knew, and from the way his fangs were on full display, he was in no mood for games.

"I'll tell you, if you promise not to go killing anybody."

I think the fangs just got a bit longer. "I do not know if this is a promise I care to make."

"And I don't _care_ to be part of some possessive macho bullshit, either! Just because you think you _own_ me, doesn't mean you—what are you grinning at, anyway?"

"You," he said simply.

"I'm glad I give you some entertainment."

"Always." He smirked more, then his face turned to marble. "Tell me, Sookie."

"No killing!"

It took a few minutes more of haggling, but finally, after a healthy comparison to Bill's behavior with my "funny uncle," I managed to get Eric to concede that he wouldn't kill, abuse, torture, or main Quinn in any fashion without my permission. (Knowing Eric as I did, I tried to cover all of my bases up-front.)

"Now, Sookie," he said at last, and I knew that was the same tone he used in giving orders around Fangtasia.

"It wasn't anything—I went to see if I could find a lead for the investigation—I was following up on something I'd heard at the bar—and Quinn just got a little, um, friendly, that's all."

"Friendly." Oh, there went the teeth again. "How _friendly_?"

"You're being much friendlier." His pelvis was practically pushed into mine, after all, although his mood was (for once) not into the situation. "It's nothing, as I said."

He was not willing to drop this bone. "How were you injured by his _friendliness_?"

"He kind of—well, he kind of grabbed me," and here Eric snarled. I could see, very easily, that men had died at his hands. Figuring that he was already as mad as he could be, I decided to sneak the rest in. "…and hekindakissedme."

Eric didn't say anything; he just stood there looking down at me as I stared at the glints off the hair on his chest. I chanced a peek upward, under my lashes. He was giving me that strange look again, as if I were something he couldn't quite understand. I should've been unnerved; instead, that wild, nameless bubbly feeling erupted in me again.

"You were wise to ask me first," he said softly. "I would have done it." His hand lifted from my side to trace my face; I was not glamored, but I could not move, shaking slightly under his drifting fingers. "I would kill for you." His fingers moved down my cheek to drift over my lower lip, to turn my chip up so that I would meet his gaze.

"Ditto," I whispered, and his lips turned up at the corners.

"I would do much indeed."

"Why?" I found myself asking. "I'm just me. Just a—just a barmaid. That's all. Just me." The wild feeling was making my heart beat triple time, and with that, my words came out in a pile, tumbling upon each other.

"No," he only said, and stepped back. And he was gone.


	39. Chapter 39

"Why?" I found myself asking. "I'm just me. Just a—just a barmaid. That's all. Just me." The wild feeling was making my heart beat triple time, and with that, my words came out in a pile, tumbling upon each other.

"No," he only said, and stepped back. And he was gone.

"Damn it!" I was alone in the parking lot, so at least I didn't look like an idiot cursing to myself. I ripped open my door and threw myself in the car.

I floored it home, daring Andy, Kevin, Kenya or any of the local cops to pull me over. How dare he! I wasn't quite sure why I was so mad, other than the fact he'd Houdini'd on me again, but I did know I was pretty damn ticked off and upset in general.

I was tired of being left alone. Especially by Mr. Significant Silences, too. Having conversations with that man was sometimes like working on one of those really hard Sudoku puzzles in the morning paper—hard as hell, and just as frustrating. My heart was hurting, I didn't know what I wanted, I felt liable to cry at any moment, and I had no idea why, other than the fact he'd gone. God, he was frustrating. In more ways than one, I thought, reminding myself I hadn't even had a chance "unwrap" my present.

"Damn it!" I hadn't even told him what I'd found out yesterday, and Lord knows what he was thinking of doing to Quinn (not that he could actually _do _anything himself, given his promise to me--)

"Oh, hell!" I muttered, heading to my room in the darkened house. I hadn't made him make any vows that would keep Pam in check, or any of those stupid vampire ways he had of getting out of doing a job himself.

I grabbed my cell and hit the auto-dial. Naturally, he didn't answer. Too busy doing Bat business, no doubt about it.

His voice mail beeped in my ear, so I muttered a sulky message. "I don't know what just happened, so, please…call me. And don't kill Quinn, okay?" I finished hastily. I was tempted to fire off a text message—("get your ass back here!")--but I knew Eric too well to think he'd respond easily to any message that might be considered a command.

I sighed and threw myself into the chair in the corner, staring out at the night. No white-faced guardian was out there—not Bubba (for which I was more than a little grateful; let's face it, he was sweet as pie, but crazy as a cuckoo), not Bill (whose comforting arms I remembered too fondly), and not…Eric. Who was in another category altogether, one I couldn't quite describe, although something in me throbbed painfully when I thought of him.

The phone in my hand buzzed, and I snapped it up to my ear at once, brushing something wet off my face in the process. "Where did you go? I feel—I feel all out of sorts and I wish, I wish we could settle this—"

"Sookie? Are you all right? Do you need help? You sound terrible!"

I sighed and threw a hand over my eyes. Of course. "Sorry, Sam, I'm just in a bad mood. It hasn't been a great day."

"I thought Eric was with you?" His voice was pitched carefully, balancing on a fine line between genuinely hoping Eric was with me, and frankly, genuinely hoping he was not. Since I can pretty much tell what people are thinking, I know for a fact how rare this is. Most folks would never manage to get near that balance; self-interest always wins out.

"No…not right now, anyway."

"Hmph." He didn't sound especially pleased, but I decided my brain was too tired to analyze that. "Well, I thought I'd check in—you didn't look so okay tonight, and you were a little, ahh, _upset _with Brandi." He paused. "Do I want to know why she got you all pissed off?"

Of course, no straight man wants to hear about women fighting over another guy's butt, so I decided to just feed Sam a condensed version, in which Brandi and I got into an exchange of words over nothing more than a bit of mutual dislike. I'm not sure Sam quite bought it or not—he'd seen me with my hands marking my turf, so to speak; Eric probably still had the impressions of my nails on his tush—but he seemed glad not to have to push the issue.

"Is this going to be an ongoing problem? Do I need to tell her not to come in again?"

"No, I think we'll be fine," I said grimly. Goodness knows, times were far too hard to go around turning down business, especially over nothing but a cute butt. _A really cute butt_, I recalled fondly, a red bikini in my mind. That bikini had kept me through many a lonely night.

God, I loved that memory.

I blinked as I heard Sam in my ear again. "Speaking of--You haven't seen those guys you followed from the bar the other night, have you?"

"Not at the bar, no." I bit my lip, wondering, and then finally dove in, explaining to Sam that yes, I'd seem them, all right—last seen in the middle of a bar brawl at Tracks. At least "Jerry" had been there, I amended; I had no issue with his buddies, that I knew.

Sam's reaction was typical. "Jesus Fucking Christ, Sookie! When the hell are you going to—" I pulled the phone away from my ear to make a face and wait for him to cool down. When the volume started to drop, I tucked the phone by my ear again. "When are you going to learn some of us _care_ about you and don't want you to end up getting killed because of some assholes' problems with Supes? Why do you always stick your neck out like this?"

"Oh, Sam." I sighed. I rubbed my neck and wished, not for the first time, that my life was a little less complicated. A lot of girls would kill to have a guy like Sam worrying over them—loyal and caring all the way. Even without fleas, a rebellious part of me, probably influenced by a Viking, piped up, and I bit my tongue.

Sam finally wound out of steam for lecturing me and let me say good-night. I sat in the door, staring down at my phone. Still no call or text from a certain runaway Viking. And he said _I _was the one who always ran away! At least I was cooling down a bit—I didn't have the desire to throttle him, as I had the second I realized I'd been deserted again.

Deserted. Well, that feeling definitely didn't help my mood. I looked out at the night, focusing instead on what Sam had brought up—what _did _I know the arsonist and his friends? I ran my hand through my hair. I needed to find this Jerry, find his last name, and see why he was against the Fangtasia vamps (and maybe me). Did he just hate the Supes? Was he hired, like he'd hired Langdon? Langdon had gotten into the Bastet with help; probably Jerry's brother, who worked for Quinn, I reminded myself. Was this linked to the brother, then? Was the source of all this something related to the brother, and Quinn? Or Jerry, and something else entirely?

I tapped my lip thoughtfully. He surely wouldn't pop up in Tracks again—or would he? And could I possibly go there, after the "redecoration" of the bar, courtesy of the vamps and the customers? Amelia probably would be too recognizable, too.

The phone lit up in my hand again, and I thrust it to my ear. "I've been calling for you—look, I wish you hadn't left, I, um, I—I miss you and, um—"

"Yeah, hey, Sook, if I buy a pool table off Hoyt, could you spot me a couple hundred?"

I stared at the phone in disbelief, then glanced skywards. _Lord, are you suggesting _Jason_ ought to get mixed up in this?_

"Sookie, you hearing me? I'm sorry things got weird earlier—and if you have that freaky ass vamp with the tights on there, don't tell me, 'cause I don't want to know nothing about that. Nothing, you hear?" His voice pulsed with panic, then lowered suddenly. "Unless, look, he does something really _cool_ freaky shit, you know what I mean, that kind chicks really dig, then you tell Hoyt, and he'll tell me, okay? Man's got to learn what works, you know."

Well, now. If I hadn't been so untouchable in high school, thanks to my "crazy Sookie" reputation, Jason could've been used as my personal abstinence coach. My heart was all worked up over Eric, but my body wouldn't light up for a good long time, thanks to Jason's words.

There went the bikini memory, damn it.

I guess that was the Lord's way of punishing me for having doubts. "Jason, could I ask you for a favor?"

"Well, I'm awful busy right now, Sook…"

Some things never change, I reminded myself sourly. "I don't have the money for your pool table, sorry." I wasn't too sorry, I'm not ashamed to say.

"Well, shit! Can't you ask that big man of yours? He may be dead, but maybe parts of him ain't dead—he'd listen, especially if you wore—"

"NO, Jason!" I am not given to shouting, but having my own brother pimp me out was a bit much.

"Well, damn it all, then. I guess I'll talk to you later. Bye, Sook!" And he was off, off to do goodness-knows-what.

I sighed and rubbed my hands together over the phone. I guess the Lord wasn't providing when it came to Jason, I thought sourly. Still no text from Eric, no message, no sign of a call. I stared across the night, looking for some sign. I squinted hard—was there a light on at Bill's? I could maybe call him, ask if he'd seen Eric…

No, bad idea, bad idea, Stackhouse, I told myself. Granted, it'd be immensely stupid of Eric to get shirty if I called Bill to see if he'd seen him, but it wasn't the right time to push him on that point. He was already testy enough over the Quinn debacle. He'd already gone ballistic over a kiss; I didn't want to get him worked up over any misunderstandings with Bill.

"Oh, hell!" I slouched back in the chair, running my arm over the afghan tossed there. It was that old afghan that Eric had once pronounced hideous, and it smelled a little like him, since he'd tossed his clothes on the chair last night. I took a quick pick around, then indulged in a self-pitying sniff, rubbing the yarn by my face to take in the scent of his cologne, his skin…

My phone buzzed again and I jerked it open again frantically. My voice was rusty, pitifully high, and my throat swollen with something unreleased. "Yes, yes?"

"This is your local Humane Society, we're asking for your donations…" the automated voice began.

"Damn it!" I hung up furiously, then felt an immediate stab of guilt on behalf of the poor animals in those ads that always made me cry. I vowed to send off a donation tomorrow—maybe in Sam's name, I thought, grinning. Better them than Jason, anyway.

I glared at the phone in my hand. Still no call, no text. Hmm. Well, had Gran taught me to sit around and wait? Oh, no. I called again.

"Hi, this is Sookie." I straightened up my back as Gran would've wished, gritted my teeth, and made myself say it. "I want to talk to you. Really. Please call me." I clicked the phone shut again, pondering, watching the minutes pass. He wasn't the kind of guy to ignore repeated messages. Heck, I knew perfectly well how he responded when _I _blew off his messages. So was he not answering out of choice? Or maybe he didn't have his phone? Hell, maybe he dropped it somewhere? He didn't have pockets, after all…

I snorted at my stupidity and dialed the other number I knew too well: 1-800-FANG.

"Fangtasia: Where Ladies' Choice Means O or A," Pam drawled.

"Is Eric there?" I was in too heart-sick a mood to appreciate her opening, and my mood went downhill further when I rose from chair and finally switched on the light to my room. There was a stack of plastic packages on the bed, and the illustration on them made clear their intent: cranberry-red sheets. To replace the ones we'd ruined last night, I gathered.

"No, he should be with you." Pam's voice sounded suspicious, as if she thought I'd lost Eric in my kitchen somewhere. "You are saying he has not come there?"

"No, he just took off on me." She growled--in sympathy, I gathered. "We were talking and he just—left."

"If you rejected my master—"

"I didn't!" I wondered what she'd do if it came to that. Pam's words left me no doubt that she'd do a lot more than tell me off.

"So what have you done, Sookie?"

"Nothing! Why does everyone—"

"Everyone?" she interrupted sharply.

"It's just been a day, that's all." I rubbed the bridge of my nose with my fingers. What a day: I'd gotten felt up by Quinn; Eric had been felt up publicly by me; and then he'd…I'd…we'd gotten cold feet and the night had ended up a mess on every front possible.

Still, I'd yet to find out my boyfriend was cavorting with his vampire ho of a maker, and I hadn't killed or caused anybody to die, so I guess it didn't rank as my worst day ever.

I glanced at the clock and remembered my discussion with Eric about Quinn. Well, maybe death wasn't out of the picture just yet…

"Look, Pam, I wish I could offer you something in return, but I need a favor." I started talking before I even realized it. "If Eric asks you—or anybody else that you know of—to, um, do something bad to Quinn, could you please try to stall him and let me know?"

There was a sharp silence on the other side of the line. "Why would I be doing this?"

You can't tell a vampire, "Because it's the right thing to do." Sometimes they know it perfectly well, and they just don't care. "Because Eric's mad at him, and it's because of me, and he doesn't deserve to die because of that."

"Eric might disagree."

"It's no big deal, Pam, he just kissed me, and I pushed him off. Really, no big deal."

"I do not think Eric considers other men with you in that light," Pam said neutrally.

"That's because—well, you know him, Pam. He's possessive as all hell. Even if he shouldn't be," I added as a good feminist. I'll admit to a certain thrill when Eric tried that stuff in _private_ areas, but I was not one for public dominant-male bullshit.

"He's only possessive because it is _you_. His woman." Her voice was thick was satisfaction. Pam loved watching the tennis match between Eric and I. Sometimes I wondered why she hadn't resorted to watching soap operas, as Bill used to do.

"Well, that's, um—I'm not saying anything about that. I'm saying nothing happened, and he shouldn't be bent out of shape over it. It was a kiss and I turned Quinn down. Big deal! Don't you think Eric's doing a lot more with the fangbangers who climb all over him? He's no Mr. Innocence," I pointed out, wandering over to my window. Playing with the tassel of the window sash, I tried to keep my mind off of the bar women. The bitches always looked at him like they'd like to jump him the second I turned my back (if they hadn't already), and why wouldn't they? It wasn't like I had any claim on him, after all… I rubbed my eyes. Tired, that's all.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Pam snapped, yanking me out of my reverie. "Eric hasn't allowed another woman near him since—oh, fuck, I don't know. When he kept trying to rip your clothes off in his office?" It was on the tip of my tongue to question which time, but she kept on. "And before that, he was changed, anyway. We spoke of this when I came to see you at the bar."

"I remember," I said dully, my brain back in that moment of time when he'd stepped out of the darkness. We'd looked at each other across the parking lot, and then he'd been kissing me, kissing me as if nothing else in the world mattered…A night where it could've, should've, been just us, as he'd promised me once…

Pam's cool voice brought me back to the moment. "This is stupid, Sookie. I will do your favor, but I want one of my own."

"What is it? I'm not wearing that awful fangbanger outfit again," I warned.

As ever, she was to the point. "I want you to stop this bullshit and tell Eric that you are in love with him."

"What? You can't be—"

"Why not? You are, he is, just for fuck's sake, tell him already. So we have no more of these bullshit phone calls."

"But I can't—" I floundered for words. "I mean, I don't—" I dropped absently onto my bed, clutching the afghan there in my hands for an anchor.

"Which is why you called me looking to find him just because you think he's upset. Right, Sookie. So here is your deal: I won't let your tiger become a wall mount, and you'll get this over with."

"I can't just say _that_ to him! I mean, you just don't plan—I can't--I mean, what do you want me to say, 'Hello, Eric, I am in love with you'?" I rattled on in a frenzy, rising to my feet, dropping the afghan.

"Sookie?"

It was not Pam. I held the phone, open as my mouth was, and stared at Eric in my doorway. Eric, who did not look at all his normal, playful self. Eric, who was staring at me as if I were the answer to some question he'd held for a long, long time.

Eric, sapphire eyes blazing. Eric, who had heard the words I had said.

I gulped against the rising ball of panic in my throat. "Um, hello, Eric."

His voice was quiet as a whisper spoken across a pillow in the night, soft as velvet, achingly sweet as the final moments of a dream. "You wish to tell me something?" In two strides, he was in front of me, the tips of his hands turning my face up to his. To his blue, blue eyes, where something there made me shiver and tremble beneath his finger-tips.

In my hand, my phone chirped loudly. "About fucking time!"


	40. Chapter 40

"I can't just say _that_ to him! I mean, you just don't plan—I can't--I mean, what do you want me to say, 'Hello, Eric, I am in love with you'?" I rattled on in a frenzy.

"Sookie?"

It was not Pam. I held the phone, open as my mouth was, and stared at Eric in my doorway. Eric, who did not look at all his normal, playful self. Eric, who was staring at me as if I were the answer to some question he'd held for a long, long time.

Eric, sapphire eyes blazing. Eric, who had heard the words I had said.

I gulped against the rising ball of panic in my throat. "Um, hello, Eric."

His voice was quiet as a whisper, soft as velvet. "You wish to tell me something?" In two strides, he was in front of me, the tips of his hands turning my face up to his. To his blue, blue eyes, that made me shiver and tremble beneath his finger-tips.

In my hand, my phone chirped loudly. "About fucking time!"

His eyes did not leave mine, but his lips turned up slightly at the corners as he took the phone from my hand and closed it. "We don't need an audience."

"Waah?" I blurted incoherently. I am not sure I could have said more; Eric's never been able to put a glamour on me without me willing it, but it sure felt like I was under a spell now.

I heard the bounce of the phone on the bed, but couldn't turn my head to look—I was held frozen by his finger tips back on my face, tracing my jaw, touching my lower lip. "Tell me, Sookie." His voice was gentle but urgent, his eyes on me like a lifeline. "Tell me, Sookie."

I did what any good woman would do. I melted. "Gah?"

And then I blinked, and anchored my hands on him. No, I wouldn't give in to the urge to just let my knees go, no matter what those blue eyes were doing to me. He deserved an answer. But I had no clue what to say. I clutched at his shirt—still that ridiculous tank-top, I noticed, and choked on a sudden sob. My eyes lowered and fixed on where his chest was exposed, and the soft dark hairs there.

His hair brushed my cheek as he leaned in to me. I should've felt intimidated—Eric's huge, and his body was practically enveloping me. But I've never been frightened of Eric's power, for some reason. Not that way. "Tell me, Sookie," he murmured in my ear. He pulled back to look down at me, his fingers again brushing my chin up so I would look up at him. Eric was physically a young man, but it was normally quite possible to see the weight of his years in the planes of his face; not tonight, not this moment, when his features were soft, with his hands holding me as if I were a glass of water in a desert land.

The sides of his mouth curved up in a smile again, and I found myself resisting the impulse to smile again. My happy pill, I'd once thought of him, and the explosive, dangerous sense bubbling up within me, boiling over within me, said he was more than that. Reason's cold hand jerked back on the reigns of those feelings. I'd given someone else a key to a feeling like this before, and even then, it was not so powerful. What would I do, if I had to find myself as I'd been that awful night in New Orleans? How would I live then? And just because _I _might be under his spell, didn't mean he'd take so much care for me-he had to be used to this thing—he'd lived 1,000 years, after all--

I shivered, and ducked against his chest, hating myself for a coward.

"I can't—"

He pulled my face up from his chest. "I can't stay away from you," he said abruptly, and I felt a pulse of surprise. His surprise, not mine, I realized. He seemed to gather his thoughts, for his eyes narrowed slightly and I knew he was on the hunt again. "Sookie, I know what I want."

Well, let's just say I had a feeling I knew that, too.

"You know you don't have to sweet-talk me," I muttered, joking pathetically while trying to wiggle away. Neither worked. He kept looking at me that way, his eyes shining more than any Supe's skin.

The words tumbled out of him. "I remember what I told you before. When I did not remember, and I stayed with you." His eyes kept scanning my face, refusing to let me turn aside from his gaze.

"Yeah, yeah…Things are different, Eric."

"Are they?" Again, his voice was at my ear, this time hot and low. I felt my knees buckle slightly and his hard arms held me up against him.

His voice continued at my ear, his arms locked around me. Frankly, I don't know if I could escape them, because I didn't want to try. "You are not ready yet, I see that. Hush." His face appeared before mine when I began to protest. "But know this." And here our brows fairly met, his rough cheek brushing mine. "We will be as before. And more, my lover."

I had no idea what to say; something was bursting and overflowing inside of me, something that lit me from within like Eric's eyes, something that pushed me to thread my hands in his hair and draw his mouth to mine. His lips slid softly against mine, curving upwards as I grunted in frustration when he drew away briefly, before sneaking in to kiss me again. And then his tongue teased open my lips, sliding satin-hot against mine, doing unspeakably wonderful things there, while the tears on my cheeks pressed onto his.

"Tell me," he said thickly, pulling back for a moment. When I grabbed at his face to draw him back to me, he drew back, shaking his head. "Tell me," he said, and though his words were quiet and the room perfectly silent, I knew I'd have heard those two words across the busiest street in the world, just as a deer knows the shot to take her down. And just like that deer, I ducked for all I could.

"Ah-umm…..maybe?"

He grinned at me and there went that Fourth of July feeling again. "Good enough for now, my lovely liar."

"Bullshitter." I grinned back at him, and saw him draw in a sharp breath.

"You," he said simply, and his lips found mine again. This time, my knees gave entirely and he allowed us to melt backwards onto the bed, the dance of our mouths still underway, our hands curved and sliding about each other. My fingers curled beneath his awful tank top and yanked up—with a grunt, he twisted to slide it over his head and let it fly, somewhere off in the darkness of the room. "You're always so eager to get me naked," he commented, grinning down at me.

"Shut up." I grinned and pulled behind his neck, but he held himself firm above me.

"Oh, no, I won't." In a blur, he was at my ear again, and I could not say if he whispered it or not, because the words themselves held me: "I meant it then, you know. All of it."

The bubbles inside were too much to take; I started blinking rapidly to contain the sudden wetness in my eyes. "Oh."

"You did, too," he said suddenly, looking directly down on me.

I ran my hands up and down his arms, giving his biceps an uncertain squeeze. I lowered my eyes to look at the tight lines of muscle above me, the curves of his pectorals lifting as he kept himself above me, the tightness across his chest from the extension of his legs across mine—

"Look at me." He wasn't asking. Well, I was no coward. I sucked it in and looked up.

"You will," he said, as if assuring me, and he swooped down to kiss me again. The tears stopped as my temperature boiled over instead. When I was bored and daydreamed during the day, I often thought back to hiss kisses, I'll admit that; I usually tried to think of how Eric could sell a book based on his ability to kiss. Because, boy, could he. Forget _Dancing with the Stars_; Eric could definitely lead a girl in _Dancing with Eric's Tongue_.

But tights would be involved in both, I reminded myself, reaching down to slip my fingers underneath the edge of that awful spandex. He seemed to be of the same thoughts as I was, his hands practically ripping my work pants off—I'd have to get extra—while toeing his own shoes off. Then he went for the hem of my shirt.

"That tickles! Oomph!"

"Be still, woman," he muttered from his position at my neck, where he was apparently working on giving me a hickey no makeup could cover up. Normally, I'd be mad at that show of our relationship—beyond the stupid chauvinism of it, I hated seeing Sam look at me as if he wanted to bathe me in garlic—but at the time, I couldn't care less. Well, other than to want to point out other areas he could mark, of course.

He broke from my squirming body to yank my shirt off impatiently. I thought I heard a click of a door somewhere—"Amelia could be around, Eric, or Octavia—"

"Do we care?" Suddenly his lips were tracing the designs on the outside of my bra and worry fell away.

"Guess not," I breathed, and felt his mouth turn into a smile against the fabric. He rewarded me with his lips against my right nipple, pulling fabric and skin alike to his mouth; the skin of my breast burned from contact with his cheek, the lace, his lips, his tongue. I hissed out something unintelligible, and he winked up at me before switching to my other breast.

"Oh, Jesus—" Eric lifted an eyebrow. I guess that wasn't the right response. Sorry, Lord. "Oh, _Eric_…." He purred happily against me—happy in more ways than one, I noticed; my legs seemed to have clamped around him when I wasn't looking. And since when I did lose my underwear without even noticing it?

He backed off just enough to peel down the strap of my bra with his teeth—his mouth lingering of my skin, his eyes intent on mine. I suddenly felt a hand where my missing clothing had been. Oh, I guess that's how, I thought, shuddering against his palm.

"Oh…my…."

"Tell me, lover." Eric's voice was slightly rusty, a tribute to my own performance, I guess. That brought me back to how little I was doing for him and I reached again for the waistband of that lycra.

"Off!" He chuckled and sat up a bit, allowing me to roll the pink fabric down and off, giving his butt a good long squeeze as I did so. It was a delicate process, seeing as how the front of the fabric was considerably strained at the moment.

"That's got to be reinforced," I muttered, and Eric's eyebrow went up again.

"_This_ is all natural, I assure you," and he was on me, suddenly, lifting my legs about him, and slid sharply home, a burn lighting me up inside like a candle in a dark room.

Oh, yes. He might know the most modern science, but he definitely had the basics down.

My nails clutched into his arms as he dove forward again, leaving fireworks in the friction of our skin. "Oh, God, again, yes." He paused and smirked down at me from half-closed eyes. "Eric!"

"That's what I want to hear. But a few more words, lover…"

As if to, well, sex me into submission, he began to rock against me, alternating slow pushes with frantic beats. Either way, I had no defense, but to gasp, twist, and shove my body upwards eagerly for him. Every sweep of his lower body against mine made me clutch and arc backwards into the bed. As we moved together, he leaned closely over me, close enough to catch my lips with his and repeat with his tongue what he was doing below. All I could do was whimper, writhe, and thank Jesus for sending me this man, my man--

Not that I wanted the Good Lord to be looking just at this moment, of course.

Eric's mouth lifted off me so that he could rain kisses on my face while I did the same with his, gasping from the rough contact of our lower bodies. I groaned and shoved instinctively over, wanting o shift position. I'm sure I said something with his name, and I'm sure I called him something like "baby," but I really don't remember it, because next thing I knew we were rolling, and then we were falling.

On the floor.

A good thing about dating a vampire is when you're in the midst of sex and you fall off the bed, unless he's completely blissed out, he can catch you. Eric was on the midst of bliss, I guess, because he just barely had sense enough to roll us so that he took the hit, his hands bracing my hips so that I didn't slam too hard down on—well, the hammer of Thor, you might say.

"Fuck!" Our words echoed in the dark and then we looked at each other for a still moment.

"Ahhh….Eric, please don't kill me, but Sookie, are you okay?" Amelia's voice was calling from a distance. A giant vampire falling off a bed does tend to make some noise, even when you want to be quiet.

We both looked at each other guiltily—well, I felt guilty, but Eric just smirked—and burst out laughing, which did all sorts of interesting things to the Land Down Under. Eric must've sensed my mood, because he began moving my hips in slow rotation over himself, his eyes darkening as I gasped.

Probably sensing I wasn't able to speak just then—nothing coherent, anyway—he called out, eyes not leaving mine. "She's fine and about to be better. And if you open that door between now and dawn—"

"No mental pictures needed! Have a good one!"

Eric grinned up at me as I panted over him. "Have a good _many_." And his hands moved down to slide up between us, a little gentle pressure there, a rapid motion of his hips and—

"Oh, my, LORD! Oh, Eric!"

It was the first of many.

I woke to find myself draped across the spectacular frame of my naked Viking, a sheet obscuring little of either of us. One of Eric's arms was beneath his head; the other was lightly curled around me, tracing up and down my side (and, of course, detouring to touch the side of my boob. Even in "downtime," Eric's not going to miss a chance to feel a girl up.)

I didn't know quite what to say—"Thanks for making me think I'll never walk again?" "Do they register those on the Richter scale?"—so instead I just slid my hand to his chest and toyed with the hair there. I had no idea what to make of "us," but I had to admit there was some kind of "us" here—or else I'd have no excuse to lean slightly over and place a soft kiss on his chest.

His voice rumbled from above my head. "Very nice. Feel free to do that elsewhere." His leg beneath me raised slightly, rubbing my inner thigh.

I tried not to squirm and slapped the wall of muscle beneath me. "You play nice."

Suddenly I was on my back and my hands were pinned by my face, and my face was beneath that of a Viking with the sexiest bed head I'd ever seen. "Oh, I will," he purred, his fangs emerging. "How nice is this?"

And then he _wasn't _kissing my face any more.

And did I mention he knows how to kiss?

Oh, my.

When the stars fell from my eyes, Eric was sliding up to my face, cupping it with his.

"I'm so lucky," I blurted out, and he smiled at me.

"You are." He saw my protest and smirked harder, then leaned in to kiss me quickly. "As am I. I have a very beautiful lover."

"Oh, you." Not quite knowing what to say, I nuzzled into his shoulder.

"Oh, me," he agreed quite cheerfully, his hand pulling mine down beneath his belly. "Why don't you show me a bit how you _appreciate_ me, my lover?"

I rubbed my hand against my leg to make sure it was good and warm—he might be cold, but he always liked the warmth of my skin—and slid a hand down to make nice. His chest contracted sharply as he breathed in, and in my hazy, well-loved mood, all I could do was admire the strong planes of his face as the pleasure began to take him. The pleasure I could give him, my Eric, my beautiful Eric, my vampire…Something was rising up in my head, some thoughts these emotions were bringing forward—making me remember something else--

His words—a litany of desperate foreign words, tender gaspings of my name, and a good array of enthusiastic "fucks" thrown in for good measure—beat against my ears as he came over, and as my mind clicked over. Langdon's thoughts from the night of the bar brawl were ringing in my head: _Should show her to Jerry, show him there's better stuff out there---not that creepy shit he's with now_…. That "creepy shit." Jerry was with—and that person—It all came down to that question: Would a person do awful things for someone he loved?

I looked down at Eric, still moving gently in my hand as he relaxed. Eric, his beautiful mouth half-open, his hands coming down to slide around mine, his glowing eyes on mine as if they were the last thing he wanted to see in this world, Eric, who made me feel beautiful—

I had my answer.

"Eric, it's a Supe! A Supe is behind the arson and the attacks!"


	41. Chapter 41

_AN: I thought I'd get this to you fast, given it took me a while to churn out chapter 40. (The upside of having a sick day: you get to play on the computer a little more than normal.) Thanks for all of your thoughts, as always!_

I looked down at Eric, still moving gently in my hand as he relaxed. Eric, his beautiful mouth half-open, his hands coming down to slide around mine, his glowing eyes on mine as if they were the last thing he wanted to see in this world, Eric, who made me feel beautiful—

I had my answer.

"Eric, it's a Supe! A Supe is behind the arson and the attacks!"

His head fell back against the bed with an audible, exasperated _thump_. "I am to be the only one who ejac—"

"Eric!" Although he'd finished with my words, he wouldn't let my hand leave him, and okay, I wasn't so eager to stop touching him either. Eric's body is akin to a cashmere blanket. You just can't keep your hands off of it. I paused, narrowing my eyes suspiciously. "How do you even know that word, anyway?" Eric's words for sex are like his actions: very much to the point.

He regarded me from half-closed eyes. "ESL classes, community college, the seventies."

The words brought a slew of awful images to my head: Eric, a slew of giggling co-eds, and the Sexual Revolution. I cringed. I might've tightened my grip, because he frowned. I moved my hands up to his belly. "They teach you _those_ words in English class?"

"Not during class hours," he smirked.

"You did _not _sleep with the students."

"No, not just with the students," he said innocently.

I gasped and the side of his mouth curled up. "The teacher?"

"I like to be the teacher." He was suddenly looking at me intently. "In fact, it seems I will have to teach you timing, lover. When _not_ to interrupt a man."

"But, I—Don't you want to know--"

"But nothing." He'd suddenly flipped us over again, and there went his fingers, slipping confidently downwards just like that first time at the estate, before Bubba had interrupted us. I'd still had dreams about that night, and how easily I'd caved to him. Well, who wouldn't, I wondered, feeling his hands on me. His fingerpads moved against my skin easily, thoughtlessly—his fingers on me like an expert locksmith at work in the dark. "When _I_ am with you," and here two of his fingers paused deliberately, then rotated slowly, while another found a most intriguing spot—"—and by that, I do mean _with you_—"—oohhhh, were there words to describe that particular gesture? I moaned helplessly---"—there is no one but us. No one." Now his thumb was treating me to little burning flicks, making my hips shift in a deliberate tempo.

"Oohhh, Gooooodddd, that's so not fair," I ground out against clenched teeth.

"Not the point, lover." I felt him smile against my neck. The hand began moving faster.

"Oh, my sweet Lord..."

"Yes?"

I managed to lift a clenched hand up to swat his arm. "Don't be blasphemous!"

He snickered against me and oh, goodness, there went another finger, moving with intent. The world was starting to fall away, I could think of nothing but the rotation and touch of those incredibly nimble fingers, the smile I felt from his lifted cheeks against my neck, and I gulped air frantically.

"Oh, my, oh, Eric, I—"

"Like that, do you?" The hand suddenly stopped, my body nearly howling with agony for its return.

"You bastard!"

He smiled right above me, sweetly. "Were you _interrupted_?"

I am Sookie Stackhouse, a strong, independent woman. I also happen to be in bed with a guy who is pretty much the da Vinci of sex. There's a time for pride and then there's a time to just, well, grin and bear it. "Just—please—_please_—" I lowered my voice, squirming against his stubbornly still fingers. "I need you—"

He cocked an eyebrow at me. "Need me? Really? I had no idea."

What on earth did he want? Eric wasn't normally one to withhold—hell, I'm not sure "no" is in his sexual vocabulary. But then I looked up into his face and saw the look floating behind the humor in his eyes—something _hungry._

"Fine! I have feelings for you, all right?"

He paused, his eyes unreadable. Was that disappointment? "Done!" His mouth was on mine with gusto. And with that, his hand below and tongue above began moving simultaneously.

It didn't take long for him to reduce me to a quivering, trembling mass of bonelessness in his arms, but he didn't seem to complain—he just tucked me against him as I oozed into the sheets, and I heard him hum something I didn't recognize, but had a distinctly triumphant note to it. I didn't ask. If it was his "I Got Some" anthem, I didn't want to know.

I curled against him, letting my fingers map the muscles on his chest. "I know what you said before—but you really _don't_ want to talk about, um, all that?"

"There's no need to speak about what I already know. Especially not to spoil a very enjoyable moment." He sounded smug.

I couldn't help myself; I popped up in the bed, looking down at him. "You knew? You knew who it was and didn't tell me?"

He just chuckled and tugged my arm so that I fell back on top of him. "Of course I knew it had to be a Supe eventually. Who else ever fucks with me? Other than you, lover," he added quickly, as if I might be offended not to be accorded official "pain in his ass" status.

"Wait—are you saying that humans aren't capable of making your life a pain?"

He looked amused, but probably at my use of the word "life." "Why _would_ they? They get everything they want from my club, we break no laws, and I am a good member of the community." His chest puffed out proudly under my hand. "I am a member of the Chamber of Commerce, you know. I have a card," he added, and I knew we were seconds away from him jumping out of the bed to grab his wallet and show it off. And while I might enjoy the view, I had no intention of letting him go.

I looked duly impressed. "Oh, wow, well, in that case." I couldn't bear to remind him of what had happened to black businessmen during the Civil Rights era. So much for Chamber of Commerce status then.

I tried to see things from his perspective. Sure, from what Eric knew, living people tended not to be a big problem of his. Heck, I could visualize the sign recently installed in Fangtasia's back lot. "UNAUTHORIZED VEHICLES WILL BE TOWED," said the sign in spotlight. An image of a little car being dragged off illustrated this. "UNAUTHORIZED FUCKERS WILL BE EATEN." A stick figure of a giant vampire was seen happily biting on cartoon thief, whose expression mirrored the unfortunate Mr. Bill's.

It had been Pam's idea, of course.

In the midst of my thoughts, Eric lifted an arm to put his head on his hand, causing wonderful ripples to move across his chest and arm, and I tried mightily not to be distracted. The smirk on his face told me the ogling had not gone undetected (or unappreciated).

"Now, must we discuss this further now? Or have you more revelations, more eja—"

"Eric!" He just leered at me; I rolled my eyes. He was definitely in a mood, and not one for serious talk, I guessed. And to be truthful, I really didn't have anything new to add to the arsonist situation—nothing that narrowed down our options, really. "Okay, fine, it can wait."

"Excellent," and his voice had just a hint of _growl_ in it. His puppy-dog eyes were killer, I knew that, but his growl—well, it was just downright obscene. I shivered happily.

"Lover," he said, and this time in a purr, as he rolled us over, so that I was on my back and he was above me. "I am fascinated to hear more about these _feelings_ you have for me."

"That wasn't fair and you know it!"

"All's fair, isn't it?" His grin was thoroughly unrepentant.

"Stop trying to rub in it," I muttered.

He just grinned more broadly and then he shifted. Eric's strength is not to be discounted, so holding himself above me was easy for him. In this case, he let himself lower down against me in an arch, then dragged his upper body forward and upward, so that his chest just skimmed my breasts before lifting away from them, and the nipples left begging in their wake. He just smiled harder at me when I tried to pull him back down against me.

"You are so bad! What is it you want, anyway?" I asked in exasperation.

"You," he said simply. Then he was down on the bed, turning me to him, our legs entwined. "I want you for my woman."

I didn't know quite what that meant—I had a pretty good idea Eric wasn't the marrying type, after all. "What, you want to keep me in chains on your bed?" I joked.

"That's a thought." I stuck out my tongue at him and now he just shook his head. "I will be clear. We are lovers." Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows but he gave me a Look that made me be quiet. (And shiver delightedly inside, okay, I'll admit it.) "You do not like that word, but it is what we are, Sookie. But there are no, there is nothing--" he paused and fumbled for words, a rarity for Eric. He finally burst out, "The Tiger feels he can proposition you, and I do not like that. Even your Shifter, he could get ideas, and he would feel you are _free_," and here Eric nearly spat the words, "and I would not enjoy killing him."

I gaped at him. "What are you on about? Do you want me to wear a brand with your name on it?" I had a vision of myself with a giant tattoo on my boob: PROPERTY OF ERIC. I shook my head and saw he was offended. "Eric, I don't understand—" I held up my hand to stop him from speaking and thought a second about what he'd said. "Eric, are you saying you want to _date _me?" Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. "I mean, you want us to be in a relationship?"

He glowered like I'd suggested he was about to show up at my door with flowers and candy. "I want you in _my_ bed and nobody else's."

I ignored the fact we were in my bed. "You are worried that I'd—"

"No. I worry about _them_, not you." "Them" would be the entire body of straight men, I guessed. I sighed. Vampire men seem to be united in pride, blood lust, and possessiveness. It was as if they were all "Only Children." They didn't know how to share in the slightest.

"Well, um, I wasn't—I wouldn't be involved with anybody else when I'm, um—" I had a hard time figuring out what to say to describe us. Instead, I concentrated on tracing the small circle of his navel with my pinky.

"Now you know what I mean."

"Well, okay, we're in a relationship, then." I found the words strange in my mouth. I wasn't the most experienced girl, but I usually dated before sleeping around. Which is why I had waited so long to have sex at all, given I could barely make it through a date with most guys. And yet here I was with Eric, on a horizontal surface with him as often as possible. And, okay, near-death experiences on a variety of occasions, come to think of it.

"Does that mean the orgy was our first date?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Yes. You asked me," he pointed out smugly.

I made a face. "So you just wanted us to be—in a relationship?" I couldn't make myself say the word "boyfriend." Bill could be a boyfriend. Eric? I'm sure he might look horrified at the thought.

"I want it understood you are my woman," he insisted.

"Then you are my man," I shot back automatically, and I felt his surprise as well as his own. Adrenaline surged through me. "I don't want to have to worry about you, either, and who's getting in your pants."

He laughed so hard it shook the bed. "That will be only your job, lover."

"Fine," I huffed, and he tucked the blanket around me.

"Fine." His lips drifted over my forehead, and I started, against my will, to drift to sleep.

"Girl, are you going to wake up sometime today?"

The next words I heard were Amelia's, from behind the door. I blinked through the bright sunlight. What time was it, anyway? I sat up, clutching a sheet to myself automatically, and glanced at the clock.

"Oh, crap, it's noon?" Suddenly something very urgent was knocking on my brain. "Oh, crap, Sam! Work!"

"I called in for you—said you were sick," Amelia's voice echoed through the door. "Yeah, Sam didn't buy it, either, but he definitely didn't want to ask." Okay, I could see that. "I offered to go in for you, but he said it was real slow, so not to worry. I think he was afraid I'd spill some of the details." From the tone of her voice, I knew Amelia was definitely grinning. "Is it safe for me to open the door? Eric hasn't figured out a way to stay during the day, has he?" She cracked the door open and peeked in. "I wanted to make sure you didn't die sometime between round 5 and 6."

I threw a pillow at her. "No comment, Miss Nosey."

She just giggled and leaned against my doorframe. "Hey, it's not nosiness if the entire house can hear the play-by-play. I had to call Tray and tell him if he didn't step it up, I was going to go back to vamp." She winked. "Who knows, maybe Pam can recommend someone. She _is_ in a good mood lately, for some reason."

I made a spinning motion with my hand and Amelia turned away so I could hop out of bed and grab a robe. And also, come to think of it, start to find and hide my clothing. And Eric's spandex? I held his tank top in my hands and tried not to imagine a buck-naked Viking flying across Bon Temps, like an NC-17 version of the Tooth Fairy.

"Pam's in a good mood?" I repeated automatically as I stuffed the clothing in my hamper. No need for Amelia to know how Eric shredded my underthings.

"Yeah, she said she's so getting a big bonus soon, or something like that. I was talking to her last night. It helped take my mind off the very loud noises coming from parts of the house, ahem!"

"Oh, hush, Amelia." I was decently dressed enough now to poke her. "And thanks for waking me up; I am going to grab a shower and get decent, if you don't mind."

"I don't, but _oh, Eerriiiic_ probably would. Ouch, girl, that hurt!" Amelia ducked from another swatting and fled the room, giggling.

I hustled through the shower and made it downstairs. Amelia had made me a sandwich, I noticed, just as the bell rung. "I'll get it!" I hollered, as I went to the door.

It was a florist, brandishing a big display. "For a Miss Stackhouse?"

I took the flowers carefully, and almost dropped the vase when I realized what they were. It was an entire bouquet of those awful flowers that looked like--well, they looked downright obscene.

I didn't have to look at the card to know who gave them to me.

The florist was looking at me hesitantly, torn between the horror of giving a woman such a bouquet and the trauma of seeing his professional good taste violated. It's a good thing vamps didn't walk in the daylight; all of the blood in my body went to my face. "Um, I just love Georgia O'Keefe," I rattled off, before dashing back into the house and away from the redness in both of our faces.

Amelia didn't say a word, to her credit, as I carried the flowers into the kitchen and unwrapped their vase. Nor did she ask to see the card ("For every time I intend to _play nice_with you, ~E"), which made me turn even more scarlet and thrust it in my shorts pocket. We managed to eat in relative silence—me wondering what to say, Amelia giving me an ear-to-ear smile.

Instead, it was Jason who said something as he burst into the kitchen. "Got some food, Sook? I forgot to take my bag today—oh, hey, Amelia." He paused and "accidentally" lifted his shirt to scratch his belly, just enough to show he had a six-pack.

Amelia, to her credit, did not burst out laughing. "Hey, Jason," she said from behind her glass of milk. "Nice to see you."

"Nice to see _you_." I looked away from Jason's "gun-slinger" move and went back to eating my sandwich. I still heard Amelia's choke, though.

"So, um, what's going on? How's work?"

Jason had moved on from Amelia to sorting through my fridge. All I could see of him was his butt poking out. I shot Amelia a glare for eyeballing his butt thoughtfully, and she shrugged guiltily. "It's slow out there, but we're hoping for some of that stimulating money, you know what I mean? Man's got to work, to take care of himself." Jason spun away from the fridge, a rapidly assembled sandwich in hand, and his boot tapped the door shut. He grabbed a chair and spun it up to the table. "And to take care of his lady, of course." He gave Amelia the 100-watt smile and I kept my head down to avoid displaying my reaction.

Jason wasn't waiting for Amelia's reaction or mine, it seems—he kept on talking. "Oh, wow, you got some cool flowers here. They for you, Amelia?"

"No, they were Sookie's. From her—"

"From a _friend_." I gave Amelia a look.

"Oh, from your man?" Jason turned from me and gave Amelia his own look. "We've got to get her away from them deader, but that big one is pretty set on her."

Well. I tried not to choke on my own milk. I guess Jason wasn't all that obtuse. (My word of the day.)

"So I hear," Amelia gloated.

"So nobody's set on you, Amelia? No flowers for a pretty lady like you?" Jason scooted his chair a little closer to Amelia. I guess he'd forgotten that not so long ago, he'd assumed Amelia and I were in some torrid love affair.

Amelia gave me a look of alarm and I jumped in. "Her boyfriend, Tray, isn't one for flowers, Jason."

Jason's chair was suddenly back in the middle, between us. "Oh. Dawson. Yeah, I remember him." His tone was slightly deflated. Having no available woman around, for Jason, was like putting a deer hunter in a petting zoo. It just wasn't right.

I patted his hand. "So, you going to be at Merlotte's later? Maybe Steve Barth is going to bring his cousin over. I heard she's in town." Steve went to high school with us. He was famous for being a brilliant football player, being almost as dense as JB duRone, and bragging constantly about his "hot" cousin, Celia. She'd been like a unicorn for the boys of our school; they never believed in her until senior year, when the infamous Celia finally came to visit Bon Temps. She was a pretty enough girl, but somewhere being pretty and such a long-standing local myth, she became the most sought-after girl in town. Jason used to have a Polaroid of himself and Celia glued to his locker, as proof he'd met her. (And did Lord knows what with her, but I definitely did not want to know.)

"Oh, good idea, thanks, Sook. I definitely need to be more social, get out more, you know." Jason's phone beeped; he glanced at it and tucked it rapidly back into his belt holster. "Got to go, ladies. Amelia, always nice talking to you. Sook, you don't mind, do you?" And before I could say "no" he grabbed a bunch of Eric's flowers and headed out of the kitchen.

"He's so going to get slapped," I observed to Amelia.

She shot me a dark grin. "He's so going to deserve it."


	42. Chapter 42

"Oh, good idea, thanks, Sook. I definitely need to be more social, get out more, you know." Jason's phone beeped; he glanced at it and tucked it rapidly back into his belt holster. "Got to go, ladies. Amelia, always nice talking to you. Sook, you don't mind, do you?" And before I could say "no" he grabbed a bunch of Eric's flowers and headed out of the kitchen.

"He's so going to get slapped," I observed to Amelia.

She shot me a dark grin. "He's so going to deserve it."

I was aware of heat.

It was so hot outside—the kind of bright heat that stings your cheeks and causes you to immediately shade your eyes, the kind of heat that makes for an immediate dampness on your neck and arms. Almost too good for tanning weather, since you could burn so very quickly in it. I could barely move, it was so hot.

There was a pool. And in it, Eric was naked. There might have been water, too, but who cares about that? And then he was moving. Nakedly. I almost pointed out to him that it was sunlight outside, but I was mesmerized by the ripple he made in the water—and hey, he would've already known about it, right? So instead of speaking, I fought the urge to stare—it was wrong to objectify a man like that, I told myself; he deserved his dignity, he had a mind, a personality, that deserved respect, he was more than a body--and oh, sweet _Lord_, he had _that_, too…My inner angel was not defeated by the nails digging into my palms as I stared. Oh, Heaven help me. He was emerging from the pool, and Mother Nature very kindly put time on hold as he slowly eased himself up from the pool across from me. I could see the great span of his powerful shoulders cutting down sharply to a slender waist, the flex of the long muscles of his back, the water rivulets making their way down the slopes cut into his skin, and then, the pièce de résistance (my phrase of the day), rising from the water like a miracle, the twin marble-like curves of his spectacular derriere (yesterday's Word of the Day). He shook his hair out (I think—I wasn't looking up too much) and water sprinkled down, catching on the slimness of his hips, slipping down the cleft between his buttocks, glinting off the tautness of his bottom, lighting up the little dimple in one cheek that I considered my special turf.

My inner angel promptly threw her halo to the side.

"It is difficult to be out in this heat," he was saying. "I had best re-apply my sunscreen." He glanced over his shoulder at me (how had I suddenly gotten so close to him? I didn't know and didn't care.)

"Oh, I can help with that," I offered, as Eric arranged himself on a lawn recliner. I was suddenly on top of Eric, and mercy help me, where was my own top?

Eric's voice made me forget about that. "I need you…I need your hands, lover," he was saying. I grabbed the lotion with enthusiasm. Wouldn't want that bottom to burn, oh, no…

"Sookie!"

I looked up. No, it wasn't Gran, busting me for straddling an entirely naked man out by the pool, but it might as well have been. There was Sam, indignantly waving towards me. "Sookie!"

"Not _now_, Sam," I hissed. Didn't he know not to interrupt me when I had a very naked Viking and SPF on hand?

"Sook! I need you!" He seemed not to have registered that I was by now thoroughly naked, on top of a naked and impatient Eric. "I need you!" Wait, was Sam naked too? Not that I hadn't thought of that before—but not with Eric here—well, he wasn't objecting--now _this_ was an interesting twist—although who knows what Eric would do if we all--

"Sookie!"

"Yea—ow!" I came to with a sway. My arm hurt a little where a hand gripped it, shaking me slightly. Damn it all, it was a dream! The sensations came flooding in, replacing the dream: Sound: the thump of a pop song on a radio, a bell ringing distantly, the hiss of a skillet in action, the protest of the stove being opened. Smell: a swirl of meats and fries. Touch: a cold veneer kitchen table surface beneath my hands, and the wetness on my arm where I'd apparently drooled. Sight: the kitchen at Merlotte's.

And, for my special case, always an additional sense, other people's thoughts:

'_Vikings don't like fur'—what the hell did she mean by that? _

At that, I finally drew breath and made myself come back to the present, turning my head to look up at the worried eyes of my boss.

You've got to give it to Sam. I've been a pretty awful employee these past two years, what with ending up in the hospital every other day, and he's not sacked me yet. Not that I didn't fear he would, some day.

"You fell asleep," he was saying. He looked slightly disgruntled, I noticed. "And the big crowd's startin' to come, so the other girls could use the help now." Because his hand was still on my arm, I could see his memory—Me, slumped on the table, making a few helpless grabbing gestures in the air, and whimpering like a child denied a cookie. A really nice cookie, I thought bitterly, but then remembered myself.

"Oh, my gosh, Sam, I am so, so sorry. I just sat down for a minute because it got slow…" I shot Terry a look, but he was occupied at the stove, and of course, it wasn't his fault he didn't wake me. "Please, take it out of my pay—"

"Not needed," Sam grunted. "Just get back out on the floor, okay?"

I scrambled off to grab some platters and help the girls out front. It was just getting to be the dinner rush, so I hadn't missed too much, thank goodness. I mouthed an apology to Arlene, who just turned her back to me. If this had happened years ago, she'd have smiled and nudged me for being up too late; now, because she knew my social life was mixed up with the vamps', she wanted nothing to do with me.

And Jason didn't help, either. He waltzed past Arlene, ignoring her entirely, and threw himself into a booth with Hoyt Fortenberry. They were angling their necks, I guess for the notorious Celia.

"That brother of yours better behave himself," Arlene muttered next to me as she filled a drink. I'm not sure why she told me; if I had better control of Jason—well, his life (and mine) would be a lot tidier.

"Well, how-de-do, nice to talk to you, too, Arlene."

If she were put off by my response, she didn't show it. "So is he still going with that weird girl from HotShot, or what?"

I nearly dropped my tray. "Um…it's complicated." We both looked back at Jason, who was craning his neck to see the new waitress' butt, and then blowing her a kiss when she caught him at it. I turned back to Arlene. "I think he would say he's free, though." An evil part of me piped up: "I think" would be the understatement of the century there—when _wouldn't _Jason consider himself free? "Why, you trying to set him up?"

"Noo…just keeping an eye on things." Her tone was much too nonchalant, though, and she wasn't looking at me in the eye.

I was beyond tempted to read her mind, but then I knew she'd never forgive me, and the tattered friendship we had would never be resurrected. "Arlene! You're not thinking—you and—"

"I said, I was just keeping an eye on things." She put down her tray momentarily and fluffed out her air. "That's all. Now, gotta get these Buds over to table four."

I gawked at her as she sashayed off. Arlene, with Jason? I saw Sam eyeballing us from behind the bar and shrugged helplessly at him. His eyes followed Arlene to Jason's table, then darted back to myself, opening his mouth in a silent whistle.

I walked back over to him to pick up my order.

"Don't get anywhere near that," he said softly, nodding towards where Arlene's red hair lit up the room.

"Trust me, I want nothing to do with that."

"If trouble found you just when you wanted it…" and Sam shrugged at me, his mouth turning up at the corner in a wry smile.

I stuck my tongue out at him and flounced off to the ladies' for a moment. Just as I was washing up, my cell beeped; I peered out at the front area to make sure the tables were fine and then stepped to the side to check it.

"Mmm…whatever you were thinking before, do continue. :k "

Well, no doubt about the writer. I hastily punched back a note. "I don't know what you're thinking."

He must've been really alert, because he answered almost as quickly: "I know what you were feeling…It was powerful…As if you called me…Listen…" Suddenly my phone went off in my hand, with a new ringtone:

_I DON'T CARE, 'BOUT ANYBODY ELSE, WHEN I THINK ABOUT YOU, I TOUCH…_

I was so flustered, I hung up rapidly, just to shut the damn phone up before Sam heard it. Thankfully, over the cacophony of bar music and conversation, nobody looked in my direction.

My fingers flew over the keys. "Quit messing with my ringtone! Everybody almost heard that!" I made a mental note to hide my phone whenever Eric stayed the night. He clearly had too much time on his hands before he snuck out, if he could play games with my phone.

The phone's vibration drew my attention back to its screen. "I could make them hear your moans instead."

I stared at the phone in my hand. "Do you only think about that?"

The response came lighting-fast. "Of course." And then the phone's screen moved again. "As do you, apparently."

My cheeks burned, but I wasn't giving in. "You were dreaming, quit it." I ran to grab some drink refills and managed to get my tables before my phone beeped again.

"You will not miss me for long, lover. Till tonight."

"Got a new man?" It was Arlene at my side and I hastily stuffed my phone back in my waistband.

"Um, what do you mean?" I adjusted my ponytail nervously.

Arlene tugged me over to the bar. Sam must've stepped away, as I didn't see him around. "Because, sugar, you were smiling just then like the Lord himself came into the room." Her own smile turned proud as she suddenly took me in, dragging me into a hug. "Oh, Sookie, it is about time! Where did you meet him? I knew you'd find a good one, after all of those—well, we don't need to talk about _them_," she finished in a bitter tone. Her eyes lit up again. "I was just so happy to see you being happy—and we all know _they_ can't be around us to walk in the sun, like Jesus intended." She tapped a little necklace she was wearing, a necklace, I saw with a sinking feeling, that had the symbol of the Fellowship of the Sun.

"What's this?" Great, now Sam was here, leaning over the bar questioningly.

"Oh! Nothing, nothing at all." Arlene pecked me on the cheek, winked, and grabbed her tray again, shuttling off.

We both watched her go. I felt the air move as Sam leaned closer to me across the bar top. "I don't suppose I want to know about that, do I?"

"It's trouble—Arlene thinks I've taken up with, ah, um…" It gave me the creeps to say "living," but how else to express this? "Um…a normal guy. You know." I made a helpless gesture. "Because I was texting before, and because of the time of day--and well, you saw her. She drew her own conclusions."

"Funny, that," I heard him murmur, in a tone I knew well from Jason. It was the "I'm not really listening but thinking about something else tone." Jason employed it 99.9% of the time we talked, so I was pretty well familiar with that. I spun around quickly. "Hey!" Sam's head was nearly at my shoulder, and now he was looking up, giving me a slightly miffed look. Yup, I'd been sniffed. I didn't know if Eric's scent could last beyond a shower, but from the sour expression on his face, Sam was sure irritated by something beyond the scent of my shower gel (a nice apple scent I got on sale at Bath & Body Works.) I fixed a glare on him. Well, he sure hadn't found out anything he didn't already know. Not that it was any of his business, anyway.

"Satisfied?"

"No," he said shortly. "Terry's got the order for table five ready, go on now."

There was nothing to be said, so I grabbed the burgers and wings and made for the table. The dinner rush was starting to come on strong now, so I had a lot of opportunities to avoid Sam (glaring at me as if I'd neutered him during one of his Dean episodes), Arlene (beaming at me as if I were her daughter on her wedding day), or Jason (whistling at every unescorted female that walked past him.) And because we were rushing so much, I didn't have the chance to set any of them straight. (Well, not Jason—I had no hope of putting him aright.)

"Don't worry, Sookie, it will be fine," Terry told me as I picked up another order of wings at the kitchen window.

I paused as I retrieved the tray. "I sure hope so." I gave him my biggest smile. Terry's a veteran and what he's overcome has been mountains to my little pile of problems, so I had no reason to be down, I reminded myself.

In fact, time seemed to be swinging back on my side, I noticed. The notorious Celia did come in and seemed unaware of my brother's many efforts to talk her up. (She did, I noted, ask Hoyt to dance with her, much to his red-faced horror and Jason's sullen fury. I'm no angel; I admit, I smiled behind my hands, and then felt badly for wishing ill on my own flesh and blood. Even though Amanda seemed to be thinking the same thing I was—she "accidentally" bumped Celia and Hoyt together on the dance floor, I saw—Jason was my own flesh, and I ought to be kinder than that.)

It was on that note that I was wiping down the bar, waiting to pick up another round from a sullen Sam. Until I heard Sam's growled, "Shit," and glanced over my shoulder, that is. There it was in my head—the sweet moment of relief, when the constant effort of holding people's thoughts went away.

His eyes were dark, just like that first night, and he nodded unsmiling to me as he took his old seat at the back booth. A shiver went down my spine automatically.

Arlene's voice crackled at my ear. "What's he doing here? Doesn't he know you're taken by a _human_ guy? You sit here, sugar, I'll take care of this!"

Before I could move, she was working her way through the night crowd to _his_ table, and I ran after her, desperate. "Jesus, Sook!" Jason growled as I bumped into him; his angry hands held me from going on further. "Don't you ever look where you are going? I could've spilled that beer and then who's gonna pay for that?" Automatically, picking up on the drama, the people around us looked at him, just as _he_ was standing up to see what was going on. And to see Arlene coming right to his table.

"Now, I don't know what you're thinking you're doing, but 'round here, we Christians don't hold any sway with his behavior. You see here, she's got a _real_ man, a _living _man, and she don't have any need of you, so just clear off and go back to your—your—well, wherever you go! She's given up on all of you dead ones!" Her hands were on her hips and she wagged her finger in his blank white face.

I sighed. The tables around us were gawking. Of course. His eyes turned to me and I stilled, sagged, in Jason's grip. "Hi, Bill."


	43. Chapter 43

_AN: I was on a roll, so here goes. : ) _

I sighed. The tables around us were gawking. Of course. His eyes turned to me and I stilled, sagged, in Jason's grip. "Hi, Bill."

Bill's eyes narrowed as he looked at us. Jason, to his credit, did not drop me like a hot potato. He adjusted his hands on my upper arms and drew me almost protectively close. "Sookie," he said neutrally. Then, in a voice that could chip diamonds, he added, "Stackhouse."

"Compton," my fool brother spat back. Normally, Jason wasn't so nasty to Bill, but he was embarrassed at everybody looking at us, I could tell from the high color in his face.

Plus, Celia was watching.

"Why are you talking to them? Didn't you hear a word I just said?" Arlene was still railing away.

Bill gave her one of his odd, tight little nods, the kind that he'd usually give me before vanishing. Instead of vanishing, though, he just stepped around Arlene and in two strides was next to Jason. His eyes remained pointedly trained on Jason's fingers on my arm. "I would like very much to have a word with Sookie."

"Sook?" For the first time, Jason looked uncertain.

Across Jason's shoulder, Sam appeared, waving at the rubber-neckers watching us. "Just wanted to tell you all that Terry's got his cherry pie ready, since it's Opening Day tomorrow." That got the crowd good and distracted, talking about whether our team had a shot, and did you hear about that new man with the fast pitch you ever saw.

Momentarily distracted by the idea of sports and food, Jason released me. I wiggled to the side and grabbed my ex's hand, tugging him back to his booth. "Sure, Bill, let's sit, people are staring." It was better to sit in Merlotte's, I figured, than go outside and cause all kinds of gossip.

And I really did _not_ want that kind of gossip to get back to Eric. He might be amused by Arlene's mistake (oh, hell, he probably would be), but he'd not be pleased at all if the town thought I was cutting a rug with Bill again.

"So."

"So." Bill echoed me, just the tiniest twist of his lips indicating that he was teasing me. That was Bill for you—he was as sly as they come.

I leaned over and read his bottle of TrueBlood. "They gave you the wrong kind!"

"It's no matter." His voice was, as always, as cool as silk. "It is good to partake of…variety."

Hmm. I stilled and mulled this over. With Bill, it was always hard to tell when he was being deliberately mysterious and when he was just being a tease. I sighed and opted not to maintain the mystery. "Care to explain what that's about?"

"Would you like to explain your co-worker's comments?" His dark brow arched.

Oh, that. "Arlene's just confused. Nothing's changed."

Bill shifted and I felt as if somewhere a balloon had let go of its air. He gave another of his little nods, more to himself than to me, I felt. Was he hoping I'd left Eric? (Not that he knew we were together-together—unless he was floating around my windows the other night, which would be just_ gross_--but I'd made it pretty clear before, I thought. And I had a hunch Eric wasn't beneath mistakenly sending photos of my lingerie to Bill, just to make the situation clear.)

"As I thought," he said simply.

_Right, just like you went to Seattle_, I thought irritably. Just because I couldn't read his mind didn't mean I couldn't tell when he was lying to me. My heart quivered at the memory. Oh, yes, I'd known.

"Right," I said shortly. "So, were you just dropping by for a drink? Something better than—_that_?" I indicated his bottle.

"A bit. And for exercise. It was a good night to go walking." Frankly, Bill is one of the most still people I've ever met; I didn't think of him as the type to need "exercise." Eric, who was so filled with restless energy that he couldn't sit but for tapping his toe? Sure, he'd need to get out and move around. Bill? No way.

"And were you—asked—to go walking?" It was on the tip of my tongue to inquire if he'd been ordered to do so, but that would sound too bitchy, I decided.

Bill looked mildly put out. "I was _asked_, and I agreed." He lifted a finger to forestall my protests. "There were threats sent to Fangtasia today. Specific threats. I was asked to stop by Merlotte's, to insure everything here was well."

"Oh." I knew, just as he knew I knew, that he hadn't been sent to see to Merlotte's. None of the vamps cared about poor Sam and his bar, and I would've been ready to bet this was all Eric's doing, anyway. He'd probably sent Bill on ahead, since Bill lived so very close by. I wondered if he meant to show up at Merlotte's himself later, after they'd made sure the threats were just empty threats, like the normal hate mail Fangtasia received. (Which they did receive often. Pam kept a file of the most amusing threats, and she'd offered to show them to me.) "Well, everything's okay here."

"Sonofabitch!" I heard Jason cuss by the pool table. I turned further to see Celia weeping onto Hoyt's shoulder. Hoyt, with an apologetic shrug to Jason, was guiding her out.

Bill's eyebrow was raised pointedly when I turned back. "Just the small stuff as usual. Nothing big. You don't have to worry." Those were famous last words. I pasted on a grin, determined to keep them true.

"Very well, then. Let me know if—" For a long moment, he seemed to hold on to his words, before he released them. "—if you need help." My abdomen flinched, feeling the weight of something unsaid, but I accepted Bill's words with a small smile.

I scooted back to work, trying to ignore Bill's thoughtful presence in the corner. As weird as this was, at least he wasn't harassing me about getting back together, or pulling any of those "Who Loves Sookie the Most" stunts that drove me nuts. And I could have a word with Mr. Northman later and see what he meant by sending Bill to me. If this was all some weird plan to have me officially notify Bill I was seeing Eric--well, that was just beneath Eric and I'd be having words with him.

And not words _under_ him, mind. Not even if he gave me the puppy-dog eyes, I told myself sternly, grabbing an order of rings and wings for the second table.

The early evening crowd was picking up, as my own shift was winding down. (Thanks to my odd starting time, Sam had been forced to juggle my schedule a bit, and we'd timed me to overlap with the arrival of the evening crew.) Jason was playing pool with a frown on his face, but he wasn't yelling or drinking. Arlene was frowning at me, no doubt confused about my willingness to associate with Bill. And Bill was watching the sports channel quietly, sipping his TrueBlood—he even chatted with a neighbor table of frat guys, and although I worried about the potential disaster if the frat boys got out of line, they seemed to just be talking sports together.

Men. Dead or alive, you'll have to pry the ESPN out of their hands, I sniggered to myself.

I brought out a new round of drinks for table one. They included the usual slightly handsy type of customer, so I kept my waist well clear of his arm reach. No need to bring Merlotte's into a bar brawl over some twit, and I knew (from the way Bill, in the periphery of my eye sight, stiffened) that was just what would happen.

"Hey, mama!" one of the men said. I was about to say something sarcastic, but he was looking over my shoulder as he said. I glanced back.

"Daaaaaaaammmnn," said another of the guys, tilting his chair for the same view. "I'd like to—sorry, miss." This one was one of my better regulars, so I just smiled at him for recovering himself.

Abruptly, all four guys sucked in a gasp of air as if the room were about to lose oxygen, and I realized why they were so desperately puffing out their chests. Pam was standing just behind my shoulder, in her work clothes.

Not suits, mind you, or pearls. Latex and leather were Pam's wardrobe of choice when she worked the floor at Fangtasia.

"Oh, there you are, Sookie." Her flat tone was not warm, but she kissed me lightly on the cheek, to my surprise. I was startled enough to drop my mental shields for a minute, just long enough to get a glimpse of the sudden graphic fantasies in the minds of table one.

_Ewoks__? _"Ew!"

Pam seemed to realize I wasn't responding to her; she ignored my outburst. "I understand you are off work soon? Then I came just in time." Sam shrugged at me from behind the bar—I guess she'd talked to him.

"Um, yeah?" I allowed her to steer me away from the bombardment of images of Pam, myself, and scenes that looked like somebody's Star Wars-filled basement.

"You will come with me tonight," Pam was saying. I don't know if she was hurrying in general or just pushing us to avoid a rush from either the horny guys or Jason (same difference, I know), but we were nearly at the door.

A shadow loomed in front of us.

"Good evening, Pam. Does the Sheriff know you are here?"

Pam looked Bill up and down pointedly. "I didn't know it was trash night. I'll have to remember."

Bill folded his arms. "I was instructed not to let her out of my sight. She's not going with you."

"Fuck off, Compton. Oh, wait, you already did that, didn't you?"

If Pam's taunts bothered Bill, he didn't show it. His face remained a smooth white blank. "Very mature, as always. Now, will you please release Sookie."

"And what will you do if I don't?" snarled Pam.

"Many things, but I think you fear most if I were to call your master. This is, after all, the task he assigned _me_." Ten bucks to me for guessing correctly, I thought.

Pam rolled her eyes. "Do you truly believe I would allow her to be damaged in my presence?"

"Seems to happen often enough around you people," Bill spat back. With great restraint, I refrained from pointing out that some of my most horrible moments had actually happened in Bill's presence.

Instead, I rallied and put a hand on Pam's arm. "Look, Bill, it's very nice of you to check in on me, but I'm a big girl and I'm going now. Thank you for your concern."

Bill didn't look too happy but a quick glance around the bar—and the eavesdroppers at every table—showed he didn't have much choice in the matter. He just nodded at me, gave Pam a death glare, and strode off.

"Dick," Pam said succinctly, then dragged me outside. Her white minivan was there, the doors unlocking as we approached. We hopped inside and confirming my suspicions, she dropped my purse in my lap. I kept that in Sam's office, so I knew darned well she had to have his approval for these shenanigans.

"So are you going to tell me why I'm being kidnapped?" I finally asked her, as she threw the van into drive and the Kelly Clarkson music started up.

"Oh, of course." She grinned at me. "I won the toss for the first break of the night." I blinked at her, and she added. "Eric and I try not to leave the bar at the same time." I nodded. "Now especially, given we have had many threats, and of course, you know the other incidents."

"Yup." How could I forget?

"Fuckers." She growled and stomped on the gas a little. That seemed to calm her, as she started talking again. "I wanted take-out, so I had to leave Fangtasia." I opted not to ask where vamps went for "take-out," or whether that option had "one million served," like McDonald's. "Eric lost the toss-up. He would have come here, I knew it." She snickered. "He was beside himself. He is most anxious to be outside the bar, for some reason." She winked at me.

"Maybe the bar was running low on something and he needed to get it?"

She leveled a glance at me. "You are a terrible bull-shitter." Her laugh was dark. "Oh, but I am sure he needed to _get it_." Her lips, a ferocious red, smiled at me before she turned back to the wheel. "So I beat him to the punch. He will be very surprised." Her teeth flashed moon-white in the darkness of the car.

"Ahh…I see." Good thing I'd gone on break myself just a bit ago. Vamps never think about things like potty breaks before long drives. In fact, they could get downright snitty when you mentioned having such needs, as I remembered from a few petulant silences in the car when Bill had to stop at a gas station for me.

Her cell phone flashed on the dashboard and she pointed at it. "What?" It was one of those flat-surface fancy ones without keys, I saw. Bill had always coveted one.

"Look at the message. Is he displeased?"

I leaned closer and saw a text box in the middle of a pink background of flowers. The text box said, "MASTER: Do tell me when it is CONVENIENT for you to FUCKING RETURN, Pamela."

"Um, yeah, I would say so." I might have worried about the tone, but Pam just saw the message and chortled.

"Oh, he's good and pissed!"

"And is this a good thing?" I knew Eric gave Pam a lot of leeway, and frankly, I'd not want to be with him if he abused his control over his children, but still, I didn't know his limits.

Pam just laughed again. "Yes, this is brilliant." She stuck the phone back on the dashboard. "He will feel foolish when I produce you, and then I will be doubly rewarded."

The phone flashed again, so I leaned over and checked it. ("MASTER: Are you consuming an entire mall?") "In that case, he's going to feel really, er, foolish. "

"Now I am teaching you to think like a proper woman." Pam's tone was approving. "Now you will not pull that not calling shit and behave well towards him."

My brain whirled from Pam's leaps of logic. "Is that any of your business?"

She gave me a look that as much as said, _Yes, dumb ass, it is my business. Fangtasia, idiot_. She at least held back the words, though. "He is in a better mood. You will please him."

"I think you give me too much credit—"

Pam snorted. "Denial, still? Let us not be foolish. You are bedmates and it pleases the both of you." She lowered her voice. "It pleases him _enormously_." I didn't get the sense she was talking about the sex, so I fiddled with my watch silently. Of course she ignored my hint. "Perhaps you should tell him you love him more often. He seems to quite enjoy hearing that, from what I saw today."

I threw my hands over my face. "Pam, please—"

"His affection for you is quite something," she went on. "It is not my business to speak for him, of course." Of course. "But I have known him many years now, and he is quite taken with you. _Quite taken_." If you could bold and underline words as you spoke them, Pam definitely did so. Hell, she almost glared at me, as if daring me to dispute her. "It would be wise of you not to hesitate to…reciprocate."

We were now going at least sixty miles per hour on a darkened freeway, so hopping out of the minivan and making a run for it wasn't an option. I set my jaw and looked ahead instead. "We are not talking about this, Pam."

She gave me her shark's grin. "You are a bold woman. No wonder he was so fascinated with you. Right from the start, you spoke back to him. You were not intimidated."

Okay, I didn't need to hear a vampire's song to my attributes, although the compliments were nice enough. I just knew Pam was circling back to her main point. I was momentarily thankful that Pam wasn't really the teenage child of some poor divorced man or widower; she'd have killed any woman who didn't take up with her master, or treat him properly.

"Okay, _enough_, Pam."

"Never," she laughed, but her laugh was cut off abruptly as the van beneath us kicked forward suddenly, with a loud, metallic sound.

I must've shrieked; I know I gripped the doorhandle automatically. "What the—" Pam started, as the van pitched forward again.

I tried to glance out the mirror, but Pam slammed the gas and was now driving like a mad woman, throwing me around in my seat. "What was that?!"

"Some fucker!" Pam ground out. She was hunched over her seat and her sunglasses were over her eyes. "Sookie, look in the glove box." I had a pretty good idea what was there, based on Eric's car, and flipped it open.

It was empty. Unless Pam intended on using her driver's manual for a weapon, that is.

"Fuck!" she said shortly. "They must've stolen it." I heard a bullet's air-splitting whine; yup, there was a gun out there in the night. "Oh, well, I shall kill them regardless."

I glanced to my side and screamed. A truck was coming up next to us, and it was tapping my side of the minivan. Pam swore again, and once more, when something bumped us from her side, too. And from behind.

"They're trying to drive us off the road!"

Pam's leg stomped down but the speed of the car didn't go up. In fact, the van shuddered under Pam's hands—had it been tampered with? Pam hissed something I didn't catch, but then I heard her mutter rapidly. "Make sure your belt is on, Sookie." Behind us somewhere, we heard a loud horn bellow—whether from our pursuers or the other traffic watching the drama, I don't know. "I will try something, hang on—"

With those words, she suddenly turned the wheel hard left, turning right into the pursuer on her side. Time began to stutter, broken up in a series of tiny experiences: We slammed into something, and then something else, and then suddenly we were rolling, the car crunching with each turn, our voices shrieking with the metal.

I opened my eyes to feel the harness against my shoulder, a giant airbag cutting into my breathing, and something else, something hard, braced across me. "Fuckers!" hissed the object braced below me, and I realized what it was. Pam had moved across the seats to try to shield me from the worst of the blows.

She moved away from me; I heard a hiss of the airbag deflating. "Sookie! Are you injured, Sookie?" Her face swam in front of my own. "You do not appear to be leaking." I wasn't sure if her tone was disappointed or not. I saw her eyes—not as blue as Eric's—assess me critically. "Compton will have a field day," she said darkly, as hands moved rapidly over my body—trying to figure out if I'd broken limbs, I realized. Suddenly her voice turned anxious. "And my master—"

"I'm fine," I gasped against the rough post-accident air. "Just let's get out, okay?" And then what happened occurred to me. "Oh, Lord, are they gone? Are we safe? Can we call the cops?"

"We must move to find out. Come now." The van had rolled on its top and I realized Pam had just squirmed across me and out the window. "I shall release the seatbelt and draw you out. Do not be afraid of falling." Sure enough, in a matter of seconds, Pam had hauled me out of the minivan. Before I could check out the damages (to it or myself), Pam had shoved me behind her and was eyeballing the road, snarling. Finally, she straightened and stepped away from me. "They were cowardly fuckers. They did not stay to determine they had their kill."

We both looked back to see the kill—in this case, the crumpled corpse of the minivan. Its front was smashed in, especially on Pam's side, and walking around the minivan, I saw several blows to the driver's side. Pam had tried to take the majority of the hits on her side, I realized.

"Oh, Pam, are you okay? I didn't even think—" I spun back to look at her. She was dusty, as was I, but I didn't see anything more than a couple of glass cuts on her forehead and décolletage—cuts that were already healing.

She shook her head grimly. "I am well." Her eyes narrowed as she assessed the van. "Although those who did this will not be." Her painted fingernails trailed against a smashed white side panel. I saw her license plate folded on the room near me and picked it up: DRABBY. "Someone dies tonight for this," she hissed. Her head shook. "I would have you wait here while I flew on ahead, but it is too risky for now—" I knew what she was thinking. Who knew how far ahead these jerks were, and if they were waiting for us to separate? Maybe they meant to lead Pam away from me. "We need a vehicle."

"I'll call—" I dug in my purse, the strap of which had burnt a pattern on my wrist. Who would I call? Sam, I decided, trying to remember the speed-dial key for Merlotte's.

"Wait!"

A truck was coming down the highway from the opposite side, and it spun up next to us. The driver hopped out; from the lights of the cabin and his headlights, it was difficult to tell his face. "What the fuck was that! I just followed those bastards to try to get what I could of the plates, and then came back here—fuck! Are you okay?" He took a step forward and moonlight illuminated him and us, I guess.

"Shit, Sook!" Jason's voice was shocked. "Are you all right? What the f—," and he stopped as he finally recognized Pam next to me. "Oh, are you ladies okay?"

"Oh, we're just fine now," Pam purred. Her eyes hardened and her hand shot out. "Now give me the keys to your truck."


	44. Chapter 44

A truck was coming down the highway from the opposite side, and it spun up next to us. The driver hopped out; from the lights of the cabin and his headlights, it was difficult to tell his face. "What the fuck was that! I just followed those bastards to try to get what I could of the plates, and then came back here—fuck! Are you okay?" He took a step forward and moonlight illuminated him and us, I guess.

"Shit, Sook!" Jason's voice was shocked. "Are you all right? What the f—," and he stopped as he finally recognized Pam next to me. "Oh, are you ladies okay?"

"Oh, we're just fine now," Pam purred. Her eyes hardened and her hand shot out. "Now give me the keys to your truck."

In the normal scheme of things, if Jason were asked to rescue me or his truck, I'm pretty sure which he'd choose.

And it wouldn't be me.

Jason loved that truck more than he'd loved every woman who had entered his life. He spent Sundays washing it and waxing it, even doing detail work on the wheels. I remember how crabby he'd been one time when I had suggested he go to church with me, rather than clean his truck. His house might be a sty, but sure as the sun comes up, that truck would be shining.

And yet Jason just smiled dimly and handed over the keys to Pam.

"You did not just glamour my brother!"

Pam flashed a grim look at me. If I expected to be treated gently, her face told me quite plainly there were limits to her tolerance of my human ways. "It's that or I rip his arm off to get the keys. Which would you rather?" Before I could answer she turned sharply back to Jason. "In the truck, Stackhouse, and your sister too."

"Sure," Jason said, his eyes starting to look confused—well, more so than normal. "Sook, you're in the jump seat."

So that's how I ended up in the back of Jason's truck, smushed in the tiny seat in the rear as the truck barreled down the highway. At least, I thought, Jason's attention to his truck extended to the jump seat, so there wasn't some awful mess back there—just Jason's sweatshirt, and the flowers from this morning.

He must've been recovering, because he grabbed some of them and tried to hand them to Pam. "Flowers for a pretty lady?"

Pam barely looked up from the wheel—for which I was glad, given I am sure we were well over the speed limit. I did see her do a double-take, though, when she saw the specific flowers. She flicked a glance back at me and her lip curled. "Oh, how did you know. _That_ is definitely my favorite."

I'm not sure what Jason read in that, because he beamed, stretched, and tried to drape an arm across the truck's front seat. Pam remained hunched over the wheel, driving like somebody from NASCAR, and absolutely oblivious to Jason's efforts. He even fiddled a bit with the radio and I groaned as some Kenny Chesney came on. I knew darned well Jason didn't give a flip about Kenny Chesney, but he'd told me once girls went wild at his concerts, so Jason tried to attend them regularly.

That's the kind of thing to make Jason a life-long fan.

"Not usual to see a girl who can drive like you, you like a bit of power under the hood, eh?" he was saying. His hand was now on Pam's shoulder.

"Sookie!" Pam barked over the radio and Jason. "Call Eric."

Jason lifted his hand rapidly. "Oh, is that your—oh, Sookie's man!" The hand descended again.

She ignored him. Her voice dropped. "He's going to have my ass…"

"But it wasn't your fault—and he doesn't know—" Jason looked back at me in confusion as I interrupted Pam's musings, then jerked to look at Pam again as she shot back, "Blood bond!"

"Oh, hell!" I lunged for my purse, hoping she wouldn't say anything else in front of Jason. She was right; if Eric could pick up on my lust from earlier, he no doubt felt my fear. And who knew what he'd feel if Pam was in trouble? Pam, who didn't have her fancy phone now?

I had three calls waiting on the phone, including voice mail, but I didn't bother to check them. I just hit the number Eric once programmed to go automatically to his cell. (Yes, 69.)

There was that voice in my ear that normally did wonderful things to my insides, but right now suddenly made me want to cry and latch on to his strong shoulders for all I was worth. His voice was tight and sharp like a wire about to break. "Where are you?" There was no sound but some crunching and a car-slam; he was in Fangtasia's parking lot, I realized, and from the roar of the motor, getting the Corvette started up.

"We're okay—there was an accident—"

"For fuck's sake, put on the speaker phone," Pam snarled, and I had to fumble to find the proper buttons.

"Okay, here we are, we're okay—"

"Eric!" Pam interrupted me. "We were accosted on the highway and run off the road." Her hand flailed backwards and I passed the phone over to her.

"Damages?" The word practically vibrated in the air.

"Just the car. Sookie is not broken, she says."

"Are they dead?" Eric's voice was quiet, too quiet.

"Not yet," Pam hissed. "They fled before I could destroy them."

"Then you are well, too."

"I am fine, my master."

"Damn right she is," Jason muttered.

"What is that?" Eric barked.

"Stackhouse. Sookie's brother _offered _us the use of his truck." Jason squeaked—in protest, I think—but wisely kept his mouth shut.

"I am sure." For once, Eric's voice didn't sound teasing, just sharp and cutting. "Do you need support?"

"No, master."

"Get here soon." His phone cut off and I realized, staring down at it in my hand, that he'd just hung up on us. It took me a minute to get over my automatic irritation; after all, the situation was wild, and who knew what vamp business Eric was doing at the time being. Pam was surely burning rubber and then some to get to Fangtasia, and it wasn't just about securing safety. The vamps were reacting to what had happened, and that meant Eric would be organizing the response.

"Oh, hell," I muttered.

"What were you girls doing out this way, anyway?" Jason turned to look back at me, his brow furrowing. "Going to see your man?"

He did have a hound's way of getting to the point. I brushed aside his speculation. "Why were you out this way? I thought you were staying with Celia and Hoyt at Merlotte's?"

"Celia's got problems," he grunted, and lifted his hand from Pam's shoulder again. This, for Jason, was a sign of a bad mood arriving. "She was with a man who left her for some vamp—no offense meant, pretty Miss Pam."

She smiled but it was without warmth. "You could not offend me, Jason Stackhouse."

"That's cool, then." He slung a hand back on her shoulder. "Anyway, I was tired of listening to her whine about how he did her wrong, and I thought I'd try my luck elsewhere. And since her man had found a babe at that place, I thought I'd go, too."

Pam glanced back at me and our eyes connected. "Fangtasia."

"Yeah, that place, where you all work. And don't Sookie's man own that?"

Pam cut through my sputterings. "Oh, yes. _Sookie's man_ owns that. As do I."

"You do? Shit!" Jason's smile was huge. "Now that's what I call a woman."

It took about fifteen more minutes for us to enter Shreveport. Our way wasn't unimpeded; we were actually pulled over twice by the cops. Pam made short shift of them—the minute they leaned down to ask for her license, she just hissed at them, "You stopped us to compliment my purse. Now go." And off we went again.

"Why'd you even bother to stop, woman?" Jason asked—although in an admiring tone, I noticed. I guess the ability to evade traffic tickets was a worthy quality in a woman, for Jason.

"Because then there would be more of them after us, and we cannot afford further delay." She roared through a red light; a couple crossing the street dove for their lives.

I shrieked and Jason screamed out a protest. "Damn, woman!"

"They were not in the crosswalk," she sniffed. "And you will not be telling my master, or Bill Compton." She snorted. "That one would probably show up at the court house to pay the damn fines."

"Still, I'm warning you, woman, you better have a hell of a lot of insurance." Jason apparently was back to "himself" again, as he was looking around in alarm.

Pam just snorted. She whipped a left that had us bouncing in our seats and I saw, with relief, we were at Fangtasia. A familiar large figure was prowling by the back door, waiting for us.

The passenger door was snapped open and Jason had to scramble to hop out before Eric virtually threw him out, to get the back seat folded down for me. I was surprised to see the tension in Eric's face, before it melted back into his trademark devil-may-care smile. "You have had adventures, my Sookie," he said lightly, and although I moved to step down from the truck, suddenly he was lifting me in his arms as if I were a sleeping child. Even when he stepped away from the truck and started to move towards Fangtasia's back door, he didn't put me down, and I didn't fight him for once, I admit. It felt good to be, well, cuddled, especially since we'd almost died again tonight. Again. Nausea swept me and I allowed myself a sudden sniffle; the long fingers holding me tightened slightly.

"Damn, you must be strong!" Jason blurted out. "Sook's no little—"

"Go to hell," I grumbled from Eric's chest, my face burning.

"Sookie is as light as a feather," a familiar voice said, and I felt Eric's pectoral muscle harden beneath my cheek.

Before he could react, there was a thud behind us, and Eric turned just-so that I could see my brother flinching from something. "Ouch! What the hell! Damn, woman, just because you're a vamper doesn't mean you've got to be a mean one!"

"Just shut up, Stackhouse," Pam hissed. She turned to glare at Bill as they wrangled the employee door. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Following up on you. I received orders from the Sheriff—seems someone hadn't done a good job of protecting our Sookie."

"Can he go to hell, too?" I mumbled into the black t-shirt. I heard a feminine huff; I think Pam snickered.

Eric was calm but cold. "You again have problems with possessive pronouns, Bill. You'll note who is holding her."

Trust Bill to run right into Trouble. "I would gladly hold her! I have never objected to holding my Soo—"

Whoops. Eric's tone went from chilly but firm to spitting venom. "I am warning you, Compton, she is—"

"Both of you go to hell," I grumbled.

"You were both too late to help before, and you are just making us late to get inside. Or would you rather continue your dick-measuring competition here while Sookie freezes? Compton, Master?" Pam snarled.

I looked up to see Eric's emotionless face and his nod. Bill looked, as usual put out, but he nodded tightly. And Jason—well, he just looked anxious. Very anxious. "Look, I don't know what you-all do for fun, but this sounds like freaky shit, and I don't do that with dudes." Palms up, he was edging backward. He glanced over in appeal to Pam. "No offense to the lady, of course."

Eric tipped his head slightly and Pam grabbed Jason by the scruff of his neck. "You're staying. Now get inside."

He didn't have time to respond, because someone—Pam, I think—had opened the back door and we were striding through the employee area of Fangtasia, and then Eric had kicked open the door of his office.

"Must you keep doing that? It's a pain in the ass to have that fixed," Pam groused.

"Enough." Eric's voice was harsh, but his eyes were reassuring as he shifted his grip to lower me to the couch. I couldn't help but moan a little when Eric's hand brushed where the belt had tightened over my waist.

He froze, looking down at me. "You are injured?"

Pam's voice, uneasy, floated back to me over Eric's shoulder. "She said she was fine before; I saw no damage."

"I'm okay, just sore." I stretched and winced. From past experience with car wrecks (the kind that only came into my life thanks to activity with the Supes), I knew tomorrow would be even worse. "Oowwwww." I knew Eric hated it when I cried and I fought back the few self-pitying tears that had gathered in my eyes. He wasn't fooled; he placed me down on the couch gently, and squatted next to it, frowning at me as he held my hands.

"Perhaps we should fetch the healer."

"No, I'm fine."

Eric's hands rubbed mine like an explorer warming his palms at a fire. His brow remained creased and he glanced repeatedly up at my eyes—probably waiting to see if I'd start bawling, I realized.

Pam appeared over Eric's shoulder, assessing me, her tone uncomfortable. "Her color is off. She looks drained. Not in that sense," she added, when I jumped against Eric's hands.

"Well, no wonder she's not well, she just went through a traumatic accident with you! Couldn't you have just pulled off the road?" Bill hissed.

"Enough!" Eric's voice was loud enough that I swear I heard a painting rattle above us on the wall. More gently, he brought his eyes back to me. "You're bleeding." Eric touched my arm thoughtfully and I saw him lick his lips. His blue eyes blazed at me suddenly and I found my own lips very, very dry. Oh, boy. My soreness and pain went someplace distant, and instead I was filled with a warmth that started in my belly and bubbled upwards. He licked his lips again and I wrapped my arm around his forearm, regardless of the stiffness of my own muscles. Whatever this man was made of, they ought to bottle it and put it in hospitals.

"So? Get her a bandaid—you got them, don't you? Wait, is this going to be freaky shit? I'm not down with watching that!"

Eric's eyes remained fixed on mine and his voice was a warm whisper that nonetheless made me shiver. "Stackhouse, Bill, Pam, get out."

I heard Jason mutter as Pam shoved him through the doorway, but I didn't see them; my eyes were focused on the soft pout of Eric's lower lip.

A dark voice interrupted us and made me glance over Eric's broad shoulder. A figure was hovering there. "Is this really necessary?"

Eric's fangs appeared beyond his lips. "It is if you value your existence, Compton—now, out!"

The door slammed as Bill left. We were alone.


	45. Chapter 45

A dark voice interrupted us and made me glance over Eric's broad shoulder. A figure was hovering there. "Is this really necessary?"

Eric's fangs appeared beyond his lips. "It is if you value your existence, Compton—now, out!"

The door slammed as Bill left. We were alone.

The door's thud made me jump in my seat—perhaps Bill's intention, perhaps accidental. Either way, it helped sober me up fast. I still felt a strong want—okay, a _very, very _powerful want—but the idea of Bill and Jason just being behind that door helped get my perspective back. As well as an awareness of my recently acquired aches.

"Quit it," I hissed at Eric.

He smiled lazily. "Quit what?" He'd already started to lap at the few little scrapes on my arms, his eyes losing focus. I knew that look well enough—hell, I could even feel it, a surge of lust that made my own toes tingle. Blood is to a vamp what a flag is before a bull, and my blood seemed to give Eric that extra spark. (Probably my version of the McDonald's special sauce, fae blood.) But whether it was my fae family or just a chance to get a lick in, Eric's hunger had been aroused—and hunger for a vamp meant all kinds of hunger, north and south.

"_That. _Making me feel _that_." I tugged at my arm in his grip. "You do realize my own brother is out there? I know what you're thinking and _that _is not happening!" Eric seemed not to hear me, bent as he was to the blood on my arm. I wasn't objecting to his tasting my blood—it's considered common courtesy to let the vamps around you get a few licks in, should you bleed, and Eric's intent was to heal my wounds, I had no doubt—but I knew perfectly well he wanted more than blood. Which brought up the topics of the night before, and the wild hammering of my heart.

I shook my arm again and tried to ignore the broad swipes of his tongue and the scratch of his beard. "Get a grip, big boy, that's enough," I said, and tried to stand up, just to get myself away from an easily accessible horizontal surface. A pang in my side was my reward. "Ouch, damn it!"

Apparently, blood might be a turn-on for Eric, but pain isn't; he literally shook his head and rose smartly to steady me. "What is wrong? Do you require the hospital?"

"It's just deep bruising, I'm sure of it." You bet I was sure. Having run into a few accidents before—the incident in Dallas comes to mind—I knew pretty well what the after-effect of a car wreck. And it'd get steadily worse over the night, I just knew it.

"Let me see." His tone gave me no room to argue, so I lifted my shirt just enough to expose my belly (nice and brown, thanks to a recent tanning bed visit) and the beginning of welts across it, from my seatbelt. His frown deepened.

"This would be better healed. Let me give you my—"

"No blood. Not here." I couldn't do that here. Maybe for vamps, taking and giving blood is a perfectly natural thing, but my memories of taking a vamp's blood were all of a pretty intimate nature. Even when we'd had our blood bond, Eric had covered us with a cloak, to give us some sense of privacy. I wanted no less now.

"No blood. I'm okay," I repeated. "Just give me forty eight hours without someone trying to kill me again, and I'll be fine."

"Hmm. We will see about that later."

I looked at Eric suspiciously but his face was blank of innuendo. "Maybe we could deal with the people trying to kill us first?"

His jaw hardened and I could see the glaze of blood lust finally dropping entirely from his eyes. "Sit. We must speak."

"We" was not just Eric and myself; he pressed a button on his phone, and just like that, in popped Pam and Bill, the latter looking supremely pleased.

"That did not require much time," Bill said cheerfully—too cheerfully. He ran his eyes over me and I shifted in frustration, knowing he was trying to see how much of my clothing had been displaced (if any). I grunted irritably and rubbed my side. For pity's sake, I was black and blue, and all he could think about was if I'd had sex with Eric or not?

"Make yourself useful, Bill, and get Sookie some pain medication," Eric barked. Vampire speed has its benefits—Bill was in and out of the office in a blur, passing me a bottled water and a bottle of Advil. (Bless his heart.)

"Where's Jason?" I asked Pam; she took the seat on the couch next to me.

"Out in the bar, making new friends." Pam winked and then rolled her eyes at my expression. "The guards won't let him leave the bar and nobody here is stupid enough to feed from him. He's safer than he'd be in his own bed." Given the company Jason sometimes took, that'd be true, I thought, and watched as Pam took a sip from the margarita glass she held. I have a feeling her Bloody Mary was quite bloody.

"Pam, Bill." Eric was seated at his desk and his tones were glacial. I rubbed my now-aching head. This was the Eric I would always want to have on my side: focused and lethal. "We must end this little annoyance of ours. It has…inconvenienced me." Normally, I'd want to make a comment about how "inconvenienced" I'd been to be hanging upside down in Pam's van, not sure if I was going to live or die. Eric's voice, soft and gentle, somehow kept my lips sealed; you knew in your bones he spoke that way to victims before a kill.

"These are the facts. Someone has attempted to burn Fangtasia, burn Pam's home, set a bomb on my car, shoot at my car, and now has driven Pam off the road, with Sookie in her car." Eric paused to look at the other vamps in the room. "This is not acceptable."

Well, no shit, Sherlock, I wanted to mutter, but I could see from the tension in both Pam and Bill—both on alert, like Dobermen hearing a whistle—that this was all seriousness.

"I have called you two in here as I have no intention of involving any other vampires unless necessary. We do not know if we have a traitor amongst us, after all." Both nodded; Pam growled.

"These are the facts." Eric leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "Sookie also believes a Supe of some kind to be involved. Would you care to explain?"

I nodded and plunged in. "Well, first of all, Bill's lead on the car bomb took us to Langdon Bettany. And when I spoke with him, it was clear he'd been paid off to bomb Eric's car. And he kept thinking of the guy who paid him to plant the bomb, Jerry, and I recognized that guy as the man who tried to burn Pam's house.

"But while he was thinking about Jerry, he would also keep thinking about how Jerry was involved somehow with somebody 'freaky,' I think he said. Langdon wanted Jerry to get away from this person, or these people. Now it could be Quinn's company, because Jerry worked there, or his brother did, anyway—but I got the sense it was Jerry's partner that was the issue, his girlfriend." Or boyfriend, technically, but I had a feeling Tracks wasn't that open. "So I had the thought, maybe the link is this Jerry." Pam and Bill were watching me with matching expressionless faces, so I plowed on. "And I can't really tell you more about him, because I went to look at Quinn's to see if I could find Jerry's brother, and none of the faces looked like his."

"You saw the tiger?" I could see the look Bill aimed at Eric and Eric's nod of acknowledgement.

"Look, Quinn is _not _involved. He wouldn't do that." To me, I wanted to add, but I knew that would not be helpful right now.

"Hmm." Eric made no comment, just stared at me thoughtfully. His eyes snapped suddenly to Pam. "Pam, where are the latest threats?" She huffed and reached over to the overflowing inbox, producing a manila folder. "Here are the latest."

"Sookie, have a look at these. We detect nothing of interest in them."

"Nothing of interest" meant something different to the vamps than it did to me, I gathered. I'd be plenty interested in death threats. But these were, I rapidly realized, fairly run-of-the-mill, with simple and generic messages: Get out of Shreveport, shut down Fangtasia, the community would never accept them, they needed to stop stirring up the teenage girls, "Edward" would not approve of their non-vegetarian ways (this note written in glittery pink pen, I noticed), death to all of the vamps. (I wondered if that writer even realized the vamps were already dead.)

"They can't even spell 'dead' properly," Pam hissed, rolling her eyes.

"Right." I continued flipping through the folder. The threats were all cheaply made and they reeked of human influence; I knew the vamps would be able to determine if any Supe were involved in them.

"So we have general human threats, hmmm." But nothing from the Fellowship of the Sun, except for one letter, which wasn't anonymous and appeared to be a basic form letter: "Dear Sinners, Please burn in hell. If you would like to see daylight, our staff can help you. Contact 1-800-TOSTY for aid…"

"I put that in the threat folder but I am not sure it was meant as such," Pam murmured.

"Gotcha." I kept flipping. "Area 5 must die!" one threat, composed of cheaply cut-up newspaper letters, told us.

"Why couldn't the jackasses have used a printer? These pasted letters are fucked-up and ugly," Pam asked indignantly.

"Don't know…hmmm." I stared at the rough paper, with its pitiful misaligned letters, for a long moment.

"Er—I mean, um, do humans normally know the divisions of vampire areas?" Three unblinking eyes fixed on me; I felt like when I used to feed my poor late Tina, how she'd always stare me down. Impatiently, I plunged on. "I mean, I only found out about your _government_ because of the whole mess with my telepathy." I fought like hell not to make fun of the vampires' government system; Lord knows it was serious business, but I couldn't help but snicker at the way the Supes had divvied up the United States into ridiculous little secret kingdoms. "Do others know?"

They looked at me with suspicion—no doubt all of them feeling I was snickering inside at their expense—and then at each other. Eric apparently was the elected speaker for vampire/human relations, as he turned back to me first. "It is not our normal way, to clarify our ways for humans. Why do you ask, dear one?" His tone was indulgent, but curious.

"Because whoever wrote this knows about areas, and that we're in Area 5, _Sheriff_." I saw Eric's eyes go from mildly curious to narrowed down and icy as he looked again at the paper I sent over his desk.

Pam's fangs were running long. "We are under attack, Master!"

"Indeed," he said shortly, raising his tight-jawed face to me. "But this does not reduce our pool of suspects." He held up a hand to stop me. "We may assume the persons involved know something of our ways, but there is no way of tracking how many humans know these things, Sookie. If this were twenty years ago—but times are different now. We must be certain before we strike."

Eric flicked a glance at Pam, who was nearly trembling with anger. "Post an alert. Whoever has done these things, wishes to be at war with my area. So be it."

Pam nodded sharply. "Alert level?"

Eric drilled his fingers on the desk before answering. "Crimson."

Pam arched an eyebrow. "What of carmine?"

Bill and Eric both looked befuddled. "Isn't scarlet next in line?" Bill fumbled.

"Ass! That's vermillion!"

The men looked at each other helplessly. Eric recovered first. "As you wish, it was your system." He waved a hand. "All vampires in Area 5 should be on alert for suspicious activity." He spun back in his chair to face the desk and leaned over it. "No details, Pam. I will go no further than what is necessary to protect my people's lives."

Pam nodded firmly and, I noticed, her fingers were flying across her cellphone. Simultaneously, I heard the buzzes of new text messages on Eric and Bill's phones. Neither reached for their cell; this was apparently Pam's "alert system."

Eric turned to study Bill. "Your task is to find this Jerry and learn more about his connections. Focus on his brother and the connection with Quinn." I squawked again, defending Quinn's name, but Pam shushed me.

"It will be done." For once, Bill answered Eric without a shred of irritation. He was nodding.

"I will have to access his system and then search each male employee against the government database—"

"And female." Pam interrupted. All heads snapped to her. "What? I have seen those television shows. Things happen."

Bill looked sick but nodded. "Fine. All employees, then. I will use the employee list against what I can find from the government of siblings—it will be tricky, given the new security updates, but--" Only computers could make Bill become so gabby.

Eric ignored Bill's salivating. "I do not care. Get the information."

"Pam." Eric's voice cut off Pam's gloating sneer at Bill's deflated face. "I want you to watch Fangtasia. Whatever being is beyond this has been here in some fashion. They know our vehicles and your home. Look for someone who is being familiar with humans."

"Well, that really makes the job simple," Pam huffed. Eric's eyebrow went up. "Yes, Master, it will be done."

"Thank you. Sookie." Eric's voice was quieter again. "Rest while we attend to these issues. I do not anticipate an answer tonight, but you will be safe."

The Advil was doing what it could, but I still felt as if I'd been kicking in the gut by a horse. Repeatedly. "Oh, thanks for the assurance. I wouldn't have slept a wink without that."

His mouth tugged up a tiny fraction at the corner. "You wish to register a complaint, my dear?"

"No," I said sullenly. It wasn't Eric's fault, what had happened, after all. "But what about Pam's minivan? Is it just going to be left on the side of the road? I mean, even if you leave it there, anybody who checks is going to know nobody died there. Or went out of existence," I added. Vamps can be picky about that wording. "You'd just be setting yourselves up for a visit from the cops, and I don't figure you'd want that."

"It's taken care of. I called for a tow when I saw it." Bill smiled at me. "Very clever, Sookie."

"If you are done complimenting my lover," Eric interrupted us testily. "You may now proceed with your assignment."

Bill huffed, nodded to us both, and exited the room. Pam rose to her feet as well. "Since the boy wonder has left us to work, so should I." She delicately dusted off her leather outfit. "After all, someone must die for chipping my nail."

"Indeed." Eric tapped his desk again, just as Pam was at the door. "And Pamela—we will need supplies. You understand."

I didn't think her smile could get any bigger. "Oh, it will be done."

I put my hand on the arm of the couch and pushed up. In a split-second, Eric was there, his hand under my elbow. "Do you wish me to carry you?"

"I just want to see what Jason's about." I rubbed my head—the throb was down a bit, at least. Eric made a grunt of disapproval, and I allowed myself to lean against him for support. "You know he's going to get in trouble here."

The wall of chest behind me sighed. "True enough."

Eric wanted to carry me out of the office, but I managed to ward him off, pointing out that at this particular moment, I really didn't want additional attention. He wasn't thrilled, however, with my call, and escorted me out to the main floor.

It wasn't hard to find my brother. He was in Eric's own booth—either he'd been placed there for safe-keeping by Pam, or he was just that stupid, to sit in Eric's spot. I didn't know which theory I favored. I noticed the staff was definitely keeping an eye on him: Felicia was keeping him directly in her line of sight, occasionally smiling back at him non-committally. Meanwhile, a couple of fang-bangers were lurking around the booth, giggling. One of them wore a Fangtasia waitress outfit, I noticed.

"Stackhouse," Eric said coolly, as he helped me slide into the booth. "I must attend to something. Stay as my guest, please." And before I could say anything, he squeezed my shoulder briefly and disappeared.

That left me alone with my brother and his newest "friends."

"Oh, my God!" the waitress fang-banger next to Jason exclaimed. "You're, like, the Master's girlfriend?"

"Not me—oh, yeah, my sis is. But don't you be afraid. He ain't going to bite you. Only I do." Jason grinned and tried to tug the waitress in with us.

"That must be so cool!" The waitress wasn't talking to Jason. She was staring at me with envy. "The Master is so wonderful!"

I groaned and hoped he hadn't heard that. "Um, sure."

"I really like working here! Don't you think they're swell here?"

I was beginning to wonder if she could say anything without an exclamation. "Nice to know—"

"Mindy!" the bartender snapped behind us.

Ah, yes, my old friend, Mindy, Fangtasia's very own perky goth. She just waved pertly over at the bar, which earned a loud sigh from the recesses there.

The bartender materialized next to me, apparently giving up on the staff. "Gin and tonic for the lady." Felicia was sliding a glass across to me. "Mindy, do you want Mistress Pam to have your ass again?"

"No! Better go!" And she bounced off to take drinks to the other tables.

"Awww, that's no fun." Jason couldn't scold Felicia too hard, as she was female and possibly single, the only things he cared about. And even the "single" was negotiable.

Felicia curled a lip unconvincingly. "The staff is not allowed to mingle…excessively. With few exceptions." It was hard to tell in the dark, but she seemed to nod at me.

Jason looked over at me. "Damn girl, you get around!"

"Shhhhh," I grumbled as Felicia walked off. "She's just afraid I'll get her killed, like the other bartenders."

"What the fu—"

"Never mind." I closed my eyes and let myself rest a little in the semi-dark of the bar. They were playing more pop music tonight; I could recognize some of the songs, spliced amidst the usual techno-goth mix. I imagined Pam pushing Britney Spears' music on the dj and snickered to myself.

"So, um, how long do you intend to stay here?" I forced myself to chat up Jason, even though all I wanted to do was sit still and feel safe.

"Don't know." Jason bopped his head enthusiastically to the beat. I think I saw him wink at some of the women across the room. "Depends upon if I find any potential here, if you know what I mean."

Unfortunately, I did. At least Jason had a vaguely puritan sense of my own sexuality and wasn't going to be more specific than that. I cast around the room to try to guess Jason's next victim. "Do you see anybody you know here? Seems like a lot of people not from our area."

"Don't know, I get around, sis. You can bet I've got friends everywhere."

Friends? Is that what they're calling it? I bit my lip to keep quiet. "Sure, I understand. I do have to ask you for a favor, though—I obviously don't have my car, and I'll be needing a ride whenever you go home, if that's okay."

Jason's face, beaming and happy, turned dark and cold. "Now you know, Sook, that's a bit of an inconvenience. How am I going to help any of my lady friends out if I've got to shepherd you home? What if I want to stay local, round here?"

"I'm sorry, I wouldn't ask, but I'm here, and Pam's van is destroyed—she obviously can't drive me home—"

"Well, ain't that your own damn fault? You always got to get yourself in trouble. And our family. Ain't that always the way with you? Look what happened here—you got yourself mixed up with those—"

I know I should've thrown a drink in his face or something, but I was tired, I was mad, and I was sore as hell. Plus, he started to say something about Gran, and that just did it.

"Please, Jason, can you just stop, I'm sorry, I'll call a cab or something," I muttered rapidly, blinking for all I was worth to try to hold back the tears. That didn't work; I grabbed at a napkin and frantically scrubbed at my eyes to stop them.

"You always want something from me, and sometimes a man has just to do his own thing, Sook, and not always be worryin' about his relatives, and—oh, hey there, buddy!"

The table suddenly thudded; two glowing white arms were like marble posts rising from the wooden surface. The water in the glass in front of Jason sloshed over and slapped the tabletop noisily.

"Hey there…._buddy_." Eric was leaning down into Jason's face. I knew that look. It was called "Pissed Off Vampire Ahead."

"Eric, please—" I reached over to grab his forearm while shaking my head at Jason, hoping he'd get my signal and just shut up. For once, at least.

"Your sister appears distressed." Eric's fangs were flashing. Jason backed up inside of the booth, apparently trying to blend in with the seat backing.

"She's just upset 'cause of the accident. I'll be taking her home now, don't worry—"

"I will not worry. I will take her home." He extended a hand to me. "Sookie."

I grabbed my purse and allowed Eric to help me out of the bar stall, if only to keep him from throttling Jason. His skin was jumping with nervous (or angry) energy; the muscles of his forearm were knotted. "This isn't necessary—"

"Yeah, ummm, look, Sook and I, we were just talkin'—and I'm heading that way—" Jason blathered on.

Eric nodded to Felicia, then leaned into Jason abruptly. "Stackhouse, sit." Jason shut up and thumped back down into the booth. I felt for poor Jason, as I was suddenly seeing Viking blues in front of my eyes, too. "Let's go, Sookie."

I wasn't glamored, but I still felt a bit uncertain as I let Eric guide me, a hand on my back, through the dance area and towards the back. I could feel his frustration that I wouldn't let him just pick me up and carry me, but he matched his stride carefully to mine and kept a hand gentle but not prodding at my back.

His Corvette was at the door, waiting for us—Pam handed him the keys and grinned at me bizarrely.

"Thanks, Pam," I said as she opened the passenger side door for me. "But how will you get home?"

"I have my ways." She winked. "The night is looking much better now."

"Pam," Eric growled, dropping into his seat. "Remember the instructions."

"I will do as commanded, my master. Enjoy your evening."

Eric wasn't in the mood to communicate further; he roared the engine and suddenly we were out on the highway. He had the top down, so the cool night air whipped my hair back. Normally, I'd love this night drive in the Convertible, with this specific companion. But something occurred to me.

"Eric—wasn't that the turn-off to Route 78? The highway home?"

"We're not going to your home." His fangs flashed against the navy night. "We're going to mine."

_Thanks as always to all reviewers. The characters are, of course, the creation and property of Charlaine Harris. (Even Eric, damn it.) _


	46. Chapter 46

"Eric—wasn't that the turn-off to Route 78? The highway home?"

"We're not going to your home." His fangs flashed against the navy night. "We're going to mine."

He arched an eyebrow at me and I groaned. I definitely wasn't made to "heel," as he'd put it once, but I knew well enough when Eric wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"You will be safe." His hand "patted" my knee—and by that, I mean, caressed my thigh, of course. "Honestly, Sookie, have you not considered that you are a target as well?"

"Me? Why would they…" I trailed off, grasping for words, and turned to watch the night sky flashing by us.

"They were at your work." His voice was harsh. He was staring straight ahead. "They followed Pam's minivan, but they followed her from your work."

"Maybe they were using me to track y'all?"

He snorted. "Sookie, Sookie, Sookie. My bullshit meter is telling me that you are in denial. They know very well where I am. Or where Pam was." His jaw was out. "Instead, they came to you."

"You always said I was trouble," I muttered, feeling inexplicably guilty. Maybe all of Sam's lecturings had finally sunk in, and I'd realized what trouble I'd courted by getting involved with vampire, and would finally regret that…I searched my conscience.

"Oh, hell." I knew my answer.

Eric's face relaxed suddenly and his mouth curled up in a half-grin. "Are you so sure my home is your hell, dear one?"

Eric just laughed when I swatted him on the arm. My actions had no affect on him—I'm about as likely to hurt him as a mosquito—but it was good to hear his bright, ringing laugh.

"Don't you have to blind-fold me or something, since we're going to the BatCave?"

His grin was now enormous. "I will save the blindfolding for when we are there."

About fifteen minutes later (all of which above the speed limit; vamps apparently lost their ability to obey the speed limit when they turned), we pulled up to the last house on the street. It was sitting a bit back from the street and surrounded by trees, as if whoever had built the houses on this street had just given up when he got to Eric's place. There were two signs posted by the walkway: "NO SOLICTORS" and "BEWARE OF ANIMAL." I blinked at that one.

"Do you have a pet?"

"Just you," he smirked, and rose out of the car. I followed and let myself check out the home of my..my…boyfriend? I shook my head. Lover? Okay, that sounded like Eric in my head. Viking, then. My Viking.

I resumed glancing around. The yard was maintained, but not lovingly groomed, and the only decoration was one of those little signs that indicate your home is under some kind of security protection. (I recalled, with a twist of sadness, how Lafayette kept one on his yard, even though he didn't have the service. He just wanted people to think he had it.) All in all, the house certainly didn't look like the home of a thousand year old vampire; instead, it looked more like the home of a grouchy old man who scared kids off his lawn. Which, I guess, is just the kind of man Eric would be, given he's 1,000 years old and a wee bit territorial…I choked back a slightly hysterical giggle.

Eric seemed amused by my fascination with his house and he turned to rummage around in the trunk. "If you are quite done examining my abode, lover, we may enter," he said; his voice echoed from behind the popped trunk. When he snapped it down again, I saw he was carrying in both hands at least a dozen bags.

He made no comment on them, instead, nodding his head towards the door. "Come, be my guest."

And that was how I got my first entry to Eric's house. He had a security code in addition to a lock—his fingers moved too quickly for me to guess it. He pushed open the doorway with his shoulder and I followed him in.

_Gee, you can't guess a man lives here, _I thought, taking in the large TV, the absence of any significant décor, the magazines tossed casually on the coffee table. The furniture actually wasn't bad. It looked very modern and expensively simple in its own way, like the furniture from one of those catalogues from that big European store that has all of the furniture and goodies under one roof. (Tara had a catalogue once and we used to pretend to shop from it.)

"Wow, this is sure nice."

"Tell Pam. She got it all from that place." He pointed at a blue and yellow catalogue on the coffee table. "Look around," Eric said, and my host was suddenly gone, allowing me to shamelessly take an inventory. I wandered over to the bookshelf (which indicated some organization) next to me, and lifted a book that had been tossed on it. The title caught my eye: _Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, and Vampires are from Ura—_I hastily flipped the book open to find a Post-It from Pam:

"_This will help with your troubles. _

_Pam_

_P.S. Quit being an ass and say it."_

I tucked the note back in the book and returned to exploring the room. There really wasn't much to see—the biggest feature of the room was his DVD collection, which appeared to feature several copies of _Girls Gone Wild_ (I groaned), a few seasons of _Buffy_ (I grinned), some military miniseries from that expensive channel, several Viking movies (I assumed; but what else was a movie called _The Vikings _going to be about?) and multiple collector's copies of _Lord of the Rings_. A sealed copy of _Gone With the Wind _was dropped on top of the DVDs, as if it were the latest purchase.

"I must put these other things away. I will need your assistance." Eric popped up next to me, more bags in hand, and I nearly shrieked out loud. He smirked at my reaction. "Afraid of my web, little fly?"

"No, thanks, Spider-man," I shot back. I did a double-take. "Are you checking your mail?"

"Certainly." He was rapidly thumbing through a handful of envelopes. "I do receive mail, you know." He threw a handful of glossy fliers into a trash can I hadn't noticed before. He threw a new _Maxim_ on the table.

"You like the articles, huh?" I couldn't help myself.

"No, the women." His fangs shone at me.

That kind of killed the conversation, as there's nothing I could say to dispute that point. Eric went back to his mail. "Ahhh, my broker." His lip curled.

"Problem?"

"I have been waiting for this report." His eyes studied me. "Some funds of mine disappeared during the recent stock activity." I didn't know much about that, barely having funds enough for Walmart, let alone savings, but I knew a lot of folks had lost their jobs, so I nodded. "My broker friend did not send me a report and I requested one immediately from his office. This is it."

"I'm real sorry if you lost money—"

He shrugged. "I do not enjoy losing money more than anyone else, but I can recover that. I simply do not care to be lied to." He slid a finger through the edge of the envelope and tossed it to me. "You may tell me what he says."

"Oh, I may, may I?" I snorted and ripped into the envelope. It was just a cover letter, nothing more. "Dear Sir: We regret to inform you that our partner broker, Richard L. Bradoff, unexpectedly left our company as of last week…." Unexpectedly, right. Probably was packing his bags the minute he realized Eric was pissed, I guessed.

"Um, I think you're going to get a new broker." I handed it back to Eric, who nodded and pitched it into the trash. "He's lucky; I was going to drain the lying fucker."

"Eric!" He didn't look ashamed at all. Instead, he tossed me another envelope. "Look, I donated to this cause. It made me think of your shifter."

I caught the envelope. The red lettering wasn't hard to decipher. "ASPCA? Eric!"

He laughed and dropped an energy bill on the table next to us. "Why not? Pamela made us both donate."

That took me aback. Pam was about as much an animal person as Bubba was. Which is to say, Lassie should stay the hell away when Pam's around. "Pam?"

"Yes, Pam. She saw an advertisement on television and there was no stopping her. She said the predators must stand together." He rolled his eyes. "Even Fangtasia had to make a corporate donation." He sighed. "At least it was deductible."

"Yes, at least that."

Eric didn't seem to get my sarcasm. He beckoned, and I trotted after him into the kitchen. I saw instantly why he'd asked for my assistance—on top of the plain counter (unremarkable but for a giant, gleaming-new, red mixer, the big kind that chefs use) was the loot he'd just brought in: groceries and more groceries.

"I had Pam select nourishment for you."

That was apparently "nourishment" for a few years, based on the amount of bags on the table. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask how long she thought I'd be staying, but some instinct made me realize disaster lay at the end of that particular question.

Instead, I started automatically sorting out the food products, and came rapidly to a few conclusions: 1.) Pam thought either I or all human women were on perpetual diets, based on the amount of diet food; 2.) Pam believed all Southerners lived on a plate of moonpies, ambrosia, and Fresca.

Eric hovered over the spread. "I believe I know where some of these items should go, but not all." Of course, I thought; at Fangtasia, it was hardly likely that Eric put things in the pantries himself.

"The rule is, cold things go in the fridge." I figured that was simple enough for Eric to grasp. When I looked up, though, he wasn't taking the fridge items I'd pushed to the side; he was grinning and waggling his eyebrows at me.

"_All _cold things?"

"Oh, hush!" I'd have tossed something at him—maybe the Emeril or Paula Dean cookbooks Pam had shoved into the bags—but even though he could probably catch it, we weren't in my kitchen. Gran would never forgive me for treating somebody's house badly. Even if it was a vampire's house.

We finished stocking the food and I followed Eric down the hall, and into the bathroom. (I found myself admiring the view—purely because his jeans were well-designed, of course.) If I was expecting a pleasure palace, I was sorely disappointed. There was a big shower, and a giant bathtub, but both were fairly plain, seemingly installed for the sake of having a large house owner than for soaking the hours away, as Bill did at his place. Here, I found another set of bags on the sink, and again they were bulging.

"Oh, Eric, how much did she spend?" I saw Eric's hands move rapidly to distribute skin cleanser, lotion, shampoo, shower gel, toothpaste, razor, and oh, Lord, even those items no male ever wants to hold in his hands. The only item that confounded him here was the pink netted bath scrubby, which he looked at with complete confusion until I explained it was a girly version of a washcloth.

"I swear, I'll pay her back—even if she got this at Walmart, it would still cost a fortune to get all of this—"

Eric's finger was on my mouth. "She bought it on my credit card, so you need not worry. I told her to see to your needs. The ones I cannot fulfill, that is." He winked. "Now come, one last area I want to show you." His big hand descended on the back of my neck and steered me down the hall, through a heavy door, and then through another door.

And here was the room of—well, okay, I admit it, I'd been here mentally many a time before. No straight woman around Eric hadn't thought about _this_ room, his bedroom, and wondered what it was like.

Again, like the living room, it was dominated by fancy European furniture, very simply cut. There was a giant bed (California king, I guessed), and I could see from its unmade status that the sheets were silk. (They were gray, to my surprise.) I could see a few bottles of cologne on the dresser, and a larger hamper in the corner, into which Eric was rapidly tossing a few items that had apparently never made their way into the actual hamper.

"I was not expecting guests," he said defensively, when he caught me looking.

I giggled and turned my eyes to the walls. Oh, yes. This is how I knew for sure I was in my Viking's bedroom. There were giant mirrors on the walls, floor-length. They were not designed just so that Eric could check out his clothing every day, I gathered.

"I thought you told me you didn't bring anybody here?" If my voice was just a bit more tart than it should have been—well, even though I knew I had no right to be mad, I still didn't like the ideas I was getting.

Eric's rumbling laugh brought me out of my jealousy. "Those mirrors aren't for anybody else, lover." His hands were on my waist, his lips by my ear. "It's for when I'm alone…and thinking of you…" His hips brushed me from behind and I was suddenly sweating from the image of Eric reflected across those two mirrors, nude and kneeling on his bed and grasping, well—

"Oh, oh my! Oh, um. I'm sorry, I was intruding—" I started fanning myself.

His voice was amused. "Intrude wherever you like." His cool hand pressed my cheek. "You are warm, lover."

_That's an understatement. _I stepped away from his hand, all too aware that he probably knew he'd just driven my heart rate into overdrive. "So this is your lair, huh?"

"And yours too." He was leaning now against the doorway now, watching me.

"Mine? I'm only here for the night, and there are plenty of rooms in this…in this…in this…" I lost my words as Eric was suddenly stalking towards me, his lips curving up in a way that was far more than friendly. I found myself automatically stepping backward as he came up to me, the sparkle in his eye telling me how much he enjoyed playing the panther to my prey.

"If you think I mean to let you sleep in any other bed than mine, dear one…" He caught me before I fell on my rump on the bed, holding us so that our bodies were sealed together. His voice dropped a few notes and it's a good thing he had his hands on me, because my knees were gone. "You are very much mistaken." His hand slid up the back of my head and into my hair, turning my mouth upwards for him. I rose up automatically on my toes for him. I felt the soft rub of his stubble against my skin but not giving a damn once his tongue slipped down gently against mine.

From beneath the strong chest next to me, a grunt issued. His hand slid down to cup my butt, then my thigh, and jerked me upwards against him, positioning my thigh helpfully by his hip. I lunged harder against him, pulling at his neck, trying to meld my mouth against his. Our hips were already starting to rock together; he made a noise and scooped my other leg up, so I could lock my legs at the small of his back and feel the burn of our lower bodies better. I broke our kiss and gasped.

"Oh!"

"Yes," he mumbled against my throat, where his beard and lips were making sparks against my skin.

"No, I mean—oh! As in, ow!"

"Ow?" I saw Eric's face register his understanding. "Oh, your accident." He lowered me gently to my feet. "Did I harm you?"

"No, no, it was just soreness." I felt bad, especially so since I could feel Eric's interest still pressing into me. I felt like apologizing to that part of him, but I made myself look upwards into his eyes. "I'm sorry, baby—what?" The corners of his mouth had dimpled inwards and his eyes, previously thoughtful, were now amused.

"Baby?"

I stuck my tongue out. "Don't make me spank you."

"Oh, be my guest." He drew my hands from his chest, down and around to the back of those incredibly cut jeans. I squeezed gratefully and he shifted next to me, pleased.

"Lover, if you keep this up…"

I snatched my hands back. "I'm sorry, I'm so sore and here I am—"

"Being a temptress." He snatched my hands back. "Do with me what you will, woman."

"I shouldn't—I'll just get us, well, frustrated."

"Me, frustrated?" Up went that eyebrow. "Never." He smirked at me and tugged at my hand. "I have another idea."

Feeling a bit like that girl the Phantom took to his basement, I followed. "Do I want to know?"

"You're going to take a nice, relaxing bath." He kicked open his bathroom door and dropped my hand. I'd have commented, but he used his free hands to pull his T-shirt over his head, revealing the cuts of muscle across his abdomen, the pectorals that were more chiseled than the David's, and oh, Lordy, those arms. I tried not to drool. "A nice, relaxing bath…" His hands came down to flick open the button of his jeans. "…with me."

_AN: Thanks as always for your review thoughts; I appreciate them! _


	47. Chapter 47

"You're going to take a nice, relaxing bath." He kicked open his bathroom door and dropped my hand. I'd have commented, but he used his free hands to pull his T-shirt over his head, revealing the cuts of muscle across his abdomen, the pectorals that were more chiseled than the David's, and oh, Lordy, those arms. I tried not to drool. "A nice, relaxing bath…" His hands came down to flick open the button of his jeans "…with me."

I made some kind of noise—I'm not sure what, honestly—as he paused to pull his cell phone out of his pocket and put it on a little table next to the tub. His face hardened briefly as he set the phone down, throwing me out of my lust-filled reverie.

I looked down and noticed something.

"Eric, is this—you've left a wet towel on the floor?" He looked at me in slight confusion and I sighed. Men. Even Bill had not mastered this particular step, although Bill was also known for thinking it was amusing when he shook himself dry after a shower. And by that I don't mean, shaking his whole body, if you know what I mean.

I lost all thoughts of Bill and nasty towels, because Eric smiled at me, his angel-devil smile, and I was gone. He smiled at me and slid his jeans down, revealing very nicely fitted black cotton briefs. He turned, presumably to get the water going, but I knew it was just to show off how well the briefs clung to his butt.

Oh, how I envied cotton.

He straightened up and in one stride was in front of me. "And why are you still clothed?" His fingers moved rapidly to whip my shirt off, then there went my pants. My underwear was not impressive—one of the million peach bras I had for wearing under my work shirts—but Eric's fangs ran out anyway. I took that as a compliment.

I thought he might be interested in more than a bath—well, he definitely was, from some of the smoldering looks I was getting—but he was very careful in how he peeled off my clothing. Too careful, I realized, as he picked me up with uncharacteristic reluctance, settling me into his lap in the steaming water.

"This does not hurt, does it?"

I leaned back against the wet flesh of his chest, watching his hands slide down my arms and then around my abdomen. "No, not at all." His hands slid over, locking me loosely against him; the hard muscles of his forearms rested against my ribcage. "This is nice."

"Mm, yes." I could almost hear him smile when I slid a hand over to stroke his leg beneath the water. "I told you once you enjoyed being hygienic."

"Silly." I patted his leg. "You'd say anything to me."

"So I would." His tone was darker now. I'd have turned around to look at him, but he rested his chin on my head, effectively keeping me locked in place against him. He said nothing more.

I swallowed and rubbed his knees. "Eric…" I don't know what I was going to say, just something to end the suddenly odd quiet between us, when his phone beeped. I squeaked and hopped against Eric's arms, earning me a slight squeeze and a laugh.

"It is merely my phone, lover."

"Well, aren't you going to get it?" I turned around to look at him now, his arms opening up to drape across the sides of the tub, and his eyes flashed with their usual sparkle.

"I will, for your curiosity, dear one. I already know it's nothing." He reached over to the table, flicked the phone open, and presented it to me. I handled it awkwardly, I'm sure—I was petrified I was going to drop it in the water—but I saw nothing but a text from Felicia, saying the weekly reports were done.

"See?" He took the phone back and dropped it again on the table. "I'd have left it outside the room, but I want to be available for any news about our mysterious _friend_." He tucked a lock of wet hair behind my ear, his eyes trained on mine. "I will keep what is mine safe."

"I know." He seemed in such a thoughtful mood all of a sudden and I felt a pang that even here, in the privacy of his own home, he couldn't just relax. I leaned forward abruptly and placed a kiss on the wet skin of his chest, right over where his heart was.

"If you want to kiss anywhere else, be my guest," he said dryly, but I saw the flicker of his old merriment in his eyes.

"Maybe here," I shot back. Even Eric's bathtub wasn't built for climbing around in, so I had to maneuver: I wiggled around to face him entirely, rose up to my knees, braced my hands on his shoulders for leverage, and leaned in to drop a kiss on his lips. His hands were at my waist before I'd already leaned in, and somehow, either due to the slickness of his skin or a sharp little tug at my waist, I found myself collapsing against him.

"Oomph." It's hard to exclaim when your lips are…otherwise engaged. I felt Eric's cheeks lift in a smile against mine, so I knew he was amused. It was a very awkward position for me, but Eric's hands had dropped under my butt to hold me up against him (and to get his own squeeze in, from what I could feel.)

"Mmphhh," he made his own happy noise against me, then slid me down so that I was sitting in his lap again. That didn't mean he stopped kissing me, of course—Eric Northman only cuts kisses short when undead musical greats walk into the room. And there was no Bubba around us now.

I was the first one to come up for air, being the only one that needed to breathe. I had barely steadied myself again before his hand was on the back of my neck, turning me to face him.

"I want you to do something."

Those are dangerous words. Eric "wants" a lot.

'Course, I do, too.

"What is it?" I couldn't even narrow my eyes at him, because his own expression was so intense. He wasn't trying to get into my head, my pants, or anywhere else, I realized. (Then again, he pretty much had the pants part covered. Or uncovered, I guess.)

His hand tightened fractionally against my neck as he leaned in to look me in the eye. "I want to give you my blood."

"Eric—" He didn't give me much chance to protest—his lips did some kind of blitzkrieg maneuver against mine, to keep me from speaking.

"Listen to me," he said, pulling back. "Just listen to me."

"That's not fair! You can't just do _that_--"

"Love and war, lover." His eyebrow arched. I chose to say nothing. The eyebrow came down and he was serious again. "You are sore now. You will hurt worse tomorrow. You have refused a healer." I could feel my back getting up. I know Eric's got all of the money in the world, but I don't—definitely not enough to gallivant to a doctor whenever I wanted. And unlike some women I'd grown up with, I had no intention of taking money from Eric just because we were…us.

He must've seen it in my face. "Do not be stubborn, woman. You are in pain—you will be hurting—you have already wept tonight over this pain--"

"It happens, it's part of the package, I'm human—"

"I know that well." He almost glared at me.

"Look, I'll be fine, I promise—"

He seemed to make a concerted effort to calm himself, as he dropped his voice and wiped the frustration from his face. "If anything should happen tomorrow, I want you to be strong." Now he saw something else in my face. "You will be safe, Sookie. I promise that." The hand squeezed gently again. "But I want you at your best." Suddenly he smiled, that slow, lazy smile that turned my stomach into an Olympic gymnastics team. "And it would make things much more pleasant for us now, of course."

I admit, I was partially relieved the playful tone was back. It was easier to swallow back the bubble in my throat, to resist the temptation to throw myself into his arms. "Pfft. And here I thought you were just interested in my well-being."

"Oh, I intend to make sure your being is well." The fangs came out entirely.

I rolled my eyes and took his hand in mine. "Fine, but just a little, you got me?" He looked at me through half-lowered eyes. For vamps, feeding is not just about satisfying one particular hunger. I could feel him stir against me as he nipped his own finger tip, presenting it to me a grand gesture.

"Will this do?"

"I think so." I knew what he was about. The blood might be flowing slower from his finger-tip, but the action I'd have to take would require, well, giving him an experience he might find just as enjoyable as a traditional feeding. His gaze was all innocence as I shot him a look. _In for a penny, might as well be a pound_, I told myself, and latched on. Blood might do it for Eric, but it didn't for me; I always tried to focus on the task at hand and just getting it done, since I couldn't enjoy it.

But Eric definitely could. He started purring as I licked deliberately, slowly up and down his finger, before drawing it into my mouth. If my tongue started swirling unnecessarily around the finger, if I moved Eric's finger in and out of my mouth without need—well, I'm sure that was just absolutely necessary to get the blood flowing.

Apparently, it was working for Eric; a throttled groan came from his throat as he watched me move my tongue slowly around the knuckle of his finger, our eyes locked together. _Why, hello, Mr. Northman_, I thought, humming slightly against his finger. He growled at me, his eyes only blazing blue slits by this point. My right hand decided to go exploring under the water to find the other Mr. Northman. _Hello to you, too, not-so-little Viking. _

"You had better recover quickly, woman," he said. For once, he sounded strained. I felt triumphant. I also felt his body in my hand too, of course, and gave him another affectionate stroke. His hips bounced up slightly, jiggling the skin beneath me. "_Very_ quickly."

I fluttered my eyelashes at him and produced my best drawl. "Are you saying you'll be all done if I keep this up?" I looked down pointedly and put on a disappointed face. "Why, Eric, here I thought you vampires were so good in bed and all."

"I'll show you in and out of it, woman," he hissed again, bucking up as I toyed with him, and I giggled.

"Oh, I don't know, you're just so old and tired and all." Eric looked so outraged I laughed out loud. "Probably couldn't keep up with little ol' me." I leaned forward to give him a light kiss. He allowed it, his eyes watching me with the bright, hard glitter of a snake about to spring. I couldn't help but grin and play with him again, watching him grind his teeth.

"I'll just have to go to bed and rest, then…" I mentioned, climbing out of the tub and grabbing a towel.

I hustled back down to his room, certain I was going to get pinned by a certain Viking any second now. "I'm going to need pajamas, can I borrow a shirt of yours?" I called over my shoulder.

"Be my guest." His voice was so close that I jumped and nearly dropped my towel. Right behind my shoulder, Eric stood, naked, dripping, and did I say naked? He was stretching upward to rest his hands on the sill of the doorway, and it did most…interesting…things to his pectorals. The water ran in rivulets down his chest, down the horizontal cuts of his abdomen, down his very considerable…

Well, guess he was still interested, then.

I averted my eyes quickly and I heard him chuckle. "In the top drawer, you will find things for yourself. And in the closet as well."

Keeping an eye on him—_eyes above the waist, Sookie, don't look directly at It; oh, oh, my. Oh, crap, It moved—why did he just laugh? Okay, task at hand then. And not that—_I yanked open the top drawer, feeling my face ablaze.

"Eric! You have things for me!" Okay, stupid statement there, but nobody'd accuse me of being Einstein on the spot. I didn't mean he just had extra t-shirts I could borrow; he'd actually bought nighties for me and lingerie. At least, I hoped it was for me. I frowned momentarily and then realized the tags were all attached still—definitely new, then.

"Pam picked you up some items, to make you more comfortable."

"That was real sweet of her." I stared down into the drawer. She definitely had gone to town—you'd think she intended me to stay—I blocked that thought. I was not being kidnapped. I was just spending the night, and Eric and Pam wanted me to be comfortable.

Or maybe Pam just wanted _Eric_ to be comfortable, I thought, as I saw the "nighties" in the drawer were 95% see-through and in colors of black, blue, and red. I was holding one in my hand, trying to figure out what all it would show, and whether it would even bother to cover my butt (although I guess when you wore such a thing, you didn't mind a breeze), when Eric's voice, now tense, punctured my thoughts.

"I hope you approve." My eyes fell on his midsection before I could jerk them upward—purely line of sight, of course. I bit the inside of my cheek when I saw the intent expression on his face as he leaned slightly forward, his hands rubbing the sides of the doorway as if they wanted to rub my body that way.

"Oh, sure." Some devil got into me because I dropped the nightgown casually and plucked a thong out of the drawer. Careful not to show anything, I stepped into it and wiggled it up under the towel. "But do you?" Ever-so-casually, I dropped my towel and spun a little to show off the goods.

There are three things I'd always known of straight men, thanks to my ability to read minds: They like boobs and are generally thinking of them; they are convinced all sleep-overs between girls result in wild orgies; and they like thongs, no matter what size woman is wearing them.

Vampire or not, Eric was very, very much a straight man. Before you even had time to say "Jack Flash," I was against the wall with a very naked, very aroused, very damp Viking pressed up against every inch of me. His blazing blue eyes glowed down at me.

"I am going to fuck every inch of you."

I didn't have time to blink. My legs were up around his bare hips, his mouth searing on mine, and my breasts were burning from the brushes of his wet chest. I clawed to get closer to him, sliding thanks to the difference in our size and the warm wetness rolling down our skin. "Oh!" The tiny scrap of fabric between us had been shoved aside, his finger diving home confidently. I whimpered in approval.

"Like that?" Although he was taunting me, his voice sounded just as breathless as mine.

His lips sealed against my neck as I twisted against his curling, stroking, strumming fingers, gasping. Suddenly I was shifted upwards slightly as his mouth latched against my breast, my nipple rubbed almost painfully by the side of his fang. The hard brush of enamel, the thrust of two fingers now, I cried out and found myself sliding down the wall again—

--to be turned around, hands pinned against the wall, back arched. "I have wanted you here," he growled into my ear, and then he was there again, slamming into me like a train bolting through a tunnel, causing the very earth to shake. Only the protection of his hand stopped my body from being thrust into the wall itself; the other hand was tucked down low, to reward my hips every time they jumped forward against the punch of his hips.

"You are mine. " His hand slid up to palm and rub my breasts roughly.

I pushed back, using my muscles to hold him. "And you're mine."

He hissed, pulled out, and suddenly I was sprawled on my back, naked, on Eric's big bed. His ceiling had a good paint job, I thought in a daze of hormones and confusion. "Honey?"

"Right here, lover." He was kneeling right there, lifting my hips, his eyes glowing, and then _oh! _Thick and hard, we were joined, we were rocking together, and his face was over my own, my legs hooked over his upper arms. He shoved my legs even higher up, pitching himself farther in me, causing my back to arch even further for him, for the rough beat of his skin pistoning into mine. Somewhere in the edge of my vision, I caught the silvery reflection of a man taking a woman, a vision that trembled with each thrust of Eric's body. His long fingers roped around my leg, rubbing me until the only thing I could do was scream his name, which I did.

His own finish was like the roar and motion of a battering ram coming home. My legs, boneless, fell to the sides as he collapsed ungracefully on top of me, head at my shoulder, his body still within me. For all of his weight, it wasn't an uncomfortable or unpleasant position—I rubbed the quivering muscles of his big shoulders as one would a horse just back from the Derby.

"I sure don't know if you got every inch of me, but you sure did try," I gasped.

His fangs were out as he lifted his head from my breasts, grinning at me. "Who said I was done?"

And he most certainly wasn't.

I didn't know the time when I woke up, but I knew for sure it was after dawn. I woke up tangled in the remains of the sheets and a very naked Viking. He was face-down, and though the bed was large, he filled it and then some. His thigh was crossed over mine, his arm flung out across me as if he were a little boy and I was his favorite teddy bear.

"Eric," I hissed, giving a slight shove, to try to roll him over. He made no noise. Of course. He wasn't just dead asleep, he really _was_ dead asleep. I sighed and made myself think on the bright side: at least I could rely on Eric to never snore in his sleep.

I wiggled carefully and slowly out of his embrace and hurried to the bathroom to relieve my angry bladder. Normally, I'd have lingered there, brushed my teeth, washed my face, and so on—but I hadn't even given myself a chance to—well, my mind didn't even want to admit it, but how often do you see Eric Northman completely vulnerable and naked to boot? I tip-toed down to the bedroom, half-afraid he was going to magically come alert during the day ("I could not possibly sleep with you around, lover"), went through the double-locked doors again, and then back to his room. It was all dark but for a tiny nightlight (left on for me, I suspect), but I could see well enough: his long, bare, gleaming body strewn across the sheets, his back and arms bare.

My favorite part wasn't bare, though, and I scowled at the offending sheet, before a wicked thought occurred to me. Gran would've tanned my hide, but Gran wasn't around…and I didn't think Eric would mind…

"Oh, whoops." I "accidentally" grabbed the sheet and gave it a little tug, his bottom coming bare like that little girl on the suntan lotion bottle. But he was no sweet little girl. "Sweet Mother of Mercy." I argued with myself momentarily, but allowed myself a little squeeze of the goods—after all, it was unholy temptation, and Eric wouldn't mind…Or I could confess to him later…(I imagined him immediately offering to drop his jeans for a repeat performance, and shook my head.)

"Get a grip, Stackhouse," I muttered to myself. Flushing, I realized I had done just that. Okay, well, maybe no need to tell Eric—not like he hadn't done Lord knows what when I wasn't awake. I remembered when he'd snuck into my bed to "snuggle" with me that first time, and snickered despite myself.

I gave his rump another pat and then pulled the blankets up. I know I can't stand it when my sheets come undone when I'm sleeping, and maybe Eric couldn't feel it, but if he could, I wanted him to be comfortable. "G'night, or day, I guess, sweetie." I gave him a little kiss on the exposed cheek (of his face), and treated myself to some uninterrupted staring a bit. Eric's always so aware of just how beautiful he is—it's hard to take a moment to appreciate him without him becoming (obnoxiously) aware of it.

His phone beeped on the table next to him. I frowned at it. To answer, or not? Normally, I'm not one for invading someone's privacy. I wouldn't like it if somebody went through my messages (particularly some of the more _specific_ ones Eric had left me), after all. But it occurred to me, what if it was important? Pam and Bill both knew I was going to be with Eric, I thought. And frankly, if he didn't look at that message, I knew that damn phone would just keep beeping and it would either drive me insane, or disturb Eric's sleep. I had no doubt that kind of annoyance would penetrate even a death sleep.

So I grabbed the phone with one hand, stroking his hair with the other. "Sure hope it isn't an old girlfriend, honey—you know my record there," I informed my sleeping companion. I flipped the phone open.

The sender made my stomach drop. I knew that number far, far too well. Bill. The texts were brief: "GERALD BPATT." A few seconds later had come another: "BQATU."

"What?" I looked in confusion at the letters until I realized the source. Bill hated texting and his skills at it suggested the phone hated him as well. I hit the next message. Yup: "TYPOS damn." "BRATT." "Lst right. Wl reprot ltaer, CALL U."

"Jerry," I whispered. "Bill's found Jerry's name." I glanced again at Eric's sleeping face. "But you won't know this until tonight. I guess you need your beauty sleep." I bit my lip before putting the phone down. It seemed a good model, but you never know with those things. It's very easy to lose a message, or that's what Jason always says when I have to ask him for something. "Maybe I should just write this down, just to be safe."

Eric's nightstand was barren of anything other than the lamp, a large bottle of lotion I really did _not_ want to contemplate, and the phone, so I slid open the bedside drawer before I realized what it could contain. "Oh, thank you, sweet Lord." I breathed a sigh of relief at not finding a mess of sex toys and dirty magazines.

"I know you're on the wild side, but some of us are still in the slow lane," I informed Sleeping Handsome.

There were a few things in there—the usual random accoutrements a nightstand takes in, like paperclips, a penny, a calculator, a ponytail holder (I froze at first, but seeing the distinctive long blond hair attached, relaxed), and then a notebook that skittered away from my hand, higher up in the drawer. I bent my wrist to fish it out and my hand closed on—

"A book? What are you reading, honey?" I flipped the little paperback over in my hand, smiling to see a vampire drawn in a cartoon manner and a girl. Truth be told, it looked to be a book I'd pick up, but the idea of Eric reading it was a bit bizarre. Or maybe it was Pam's? A receipt was tucked into the book, apparently as a bookmark. It was from Costco, and it listed paper towels and napkins being bought in bulk, the book, a Hustler, and a _Penthouse_. No doubt about who bought it, then. Pam might be very open-minded, but she definitely would not go buying skin magazines.

"For a man who probably has had sex every night for the last thousand years, you sure are dirty-minded." I toyed with his hair thoughtfully. "But what are you doing with that book?" I looked at it again, reading the back, which promised a love affair between a girl and a vampire._ Hmmm, not sure I know anything of that, oh, no, not me…_I hurriedly put the book back in the drawer and shut it.

"Bet you were just bored or wanted a laugh, anyway."

He didn't answer me, of course, so I was left to my own devices. I scrawled a note to him with Bill's information, mimicking his signature with my own "S" and a heart. And then, unable to resist the temptation, I changed his ringtone.

"You're going to just love this," I told him, snickering. I gave his shoulder one last pat. Time to get cleaned up, I reckoned, as there was plenty to be doing. But first, I had to get something to wear.

I already knew, thanks to last night, where he'd stashed the lingerie options. Eric had told me there was clothing for today, too, in his closet, so I headed straight there. And stared.

Pam clearly had never had a Barbie before, and was making up for lost time. There were easily ten outfits hanging there—sundresses, jeans, shirts, even a fancy dress. I looked down on the floor—yup, shoes to go with each. My Little Sookie was apparently the name of this project.

"I suppose I should be glad she's not dressing me personally," I muttered, before selecting a pair of jeans and a shirt.

_AN: Thanks to all the reviewers! To answer a couple of questions: Yes to IKEA and _Generation Kill. _Eric likes all things that involve Swedish men, as do we! ;) _


	48. Chapter 48

Pam clearly had never had a Barbie before, and was making up for lost time. There were easily ten outfits hanging there—sundresses, jeans, shirts, even a fancy dress. I looked down on the floor—yup, shoes to go with each.

"I suppose I should be glad she's not dressing me personally," I muttered, before selecting a pair of jeans and a shirt.

It's really weird being in somebody else's house, I've got to say. I wasn't used to it; I didn't go away a lot as a little girl, for obvious reasons. (Sleep-overs were hell.) Plus, my awareness that Eric was snoozing/in state up in his room made me want to tip-toe around, as if I might wake him.

I decided to be active and not let the weirdness of the situation get to me. Besides, Eric and Pam had clearly gone of their way to make me comfortable. I wasn't going to spite their hospitality and feel awkward. As I got my breakfast together, I made a list of items I had to do:

_1.) Call Sam._ Eric had told me he had everything "under control," but that didn't excuse me from my responsibility for my job. I'd call Sam and make sure it was all okay.

_2.) Clean the dishes and laundry. _Eric's house looked pretty spic-and-span, so there wasn't much to do in the way of cleaning. Still, I could tidy up my dishes and I could see if he had a washer somewhere around. (With the requisite scarlet bottle of Tide. Although the vamps' coming-out had not gone smoothly at first, Tide and several other companies jumped on the bandwagon pretty quickly. Right after the Revelation, Tide had begun a series of ads targeted at the newest consumer demographic. A rather toothy, pale woman would hold up a brilliant red bottle of Tide, remaking on its powers to clean up "even the most vital of stains." Tide stock had shot through the roof and Tide had become the only detergent any vamp would use.)

_3.) Look up Jerry_. I knew Eric had a computer in his home office—he'd told me I could use it. I'd see if I could dig anything up on Jerry. I wasn't a computer whiz like Bill, or even as good as Amelia, but I could try.

_4.) ?? _I had no intention of sitting around, twiddling my thumbs and waiting for Eric to rise; I'd find a way to be useful.

First task up, then—Sam. I grabbed my cell and punched in the familiar number. (I know Merlotte's has that Caller ID, so Sam can call back any teenagers pulling pranks on the bar, and I didn't know if it'd be a good idea to show Eric's number on there. Then again, Eric's home number might have been 800-SXYVMP for all I knew.)

"Merlotte's Bar! Sure glad you called us! Can I help you?"

That wasn't Sam. I blinked at the headset. "Um, hello, who is this?"

"Mindy, ma'am! You've called Merlotte's Bar! How are you today?"

_What the hell? _"Mindy? From Fangtasia?"

"I'm at Merlotte's Bar! We're happy to have your service! Do you want our hours, ma'am?"

I gritted my teeth. "I'd like to speak with Sam, please."

"I don't know if Mr. Merlotte is available—"

"Mindy!" I hissed. God help me for being a bitch, but I had my limits. We were not going through this again. "It's Sookie. Remember, Sookie? Friend of Eric?" Yes, very friendly indeed. "I need to speak with Sam NOW."

"Oh, well." She huffed and presently I heard, with great relief, Sam's voice in the background, and then there he was.

"Sook? I thought you were taking the day off?"

He didn't sound all that mad, or even sarcastic. I know I'd have been, if I were in his shoes. "I wanted to talk to you—I'm so sorry about this, and if you want to let me go—"

"Sookie! You know I'm not doing that." His voice lowered. " 'Sides, I heard what happened. I'm just glad you are okay."

"Doing best as possible. Hey, what's going on with Mindy?"

"Your vamp sent her over to pitch in while you're out. So far, she's actually doing an okay job—friendly girl, gets along well. No pirate tendencies." I could hear the teasing lilt of Sam's voice.

Sam and I joked a bit about the late (and unmissed) Charles Twining before getting off the phone. (Unmissed by Sam, anyway; I'd always felt a bit of regret that Charles didn't take more after that cute Johnny Depp pirate in the movies. Eric had not been pleased when I told him that.)

So, step one accomplished. I ticked it off my list. Step two, was to be polite and clean up after myself and my host, as much as I could. The dishes were a two-minute process (during which I noticed the extreme deficiency of dishware in Eric's house—but then again, he didn't do a lot of human entertaining, I guessed.) I located the laundry and made my way back to the bathroom, scooping up our clothing and the wet towels Eric had left on the floor. There wasn't a hamper there (of course, or else he'd have figured out wet towels don't do well on the floor by now), so I headed back to the bedroom.

I flipped on the bedside light—Eric had said full light wouldn't bother him, but I still didn't want to turn his room into a Christmas tree when he was out. Now that I had more light, I could answer the burning questions of the day, like whether he normally bothered with his hamper or not. And the answer would be…not, I realized. I found a _Fangtasia_ shirt behind his hamper, a pair of jeans that had fallen behind a chair, and a pair of boxers that were half-under the bed. (They scared me at first because they were glow-in-the dark. They apparently were a Halloween vintage, since they had "TRICK OR TREAT" scrawled across the front and back.)

"Well, you're not the worst slob I've seen, just a man," I told him, and patted his leg through the blankets.

Off to the wash, then. I hauled the hamper to the sparkling washer. (I'd have wondered if he ever used it, but he didn't have an obscene amount of clothing in his hamper, and the washer itself was one of those really fancy new kinds, the ones that promise to do pretty much everything for you.) It took me just a few more minutes to get that sorted out, including sorting out Eric's diverse range in undies and snickering all the way. I was a little leery, I admit, that I'd come across something disturbing (and not just that awful green hammock-type outfit that comedian wore in the magazines)—something like shirts with multiple shades of lipstick on it, bras and panties that weren't mine, etc. But no, no sign of Eric having any amusement when I wasn't around.

"Hmmm." Well, maybe I owed Mr. Northman a little thank-you at some point. It would just be good manners, I told myself. Even though I'm not sure Gran ever considered "adult activities" good manners, I'm sure she'd like me to show my appreciation of my host…

Something outside the window caught my eye—a woman sunbathing? Or at least that's what it looked like. She had on a bikini top and short-shorts that had the word _Foxy _scrawled across the butt. (I'd bought a similar pair once that said "Angel" and Gran had told me if the good Lord had wanted words on my butt, he'd have marked me so. Out went those shorts.)

I'd have turned away, but something felt off about the entire production she made—lavishing suntan oil on herself, directing her chair on the side lawn near Eric's, shooting constant looks in this direction.

And then it hit me. _The skank is after Eric! _I almost dropped the glass in my hands. It made sense; not all humans can spot a vamp and maybe all this woman saw was Eric's (very attractive) exterior. I wondered what she thought of him. Oh, hell, I was a straight female; I _knew _what she thought of him. I saw her stand up, bend over very obviously, so her boobs almost fell out of her little bikini top, all the while hopefully positioning herself for any peeping Vikings, and my sympathy ran out.

It was time, I decided, to take out the trash.

I grabbed an empty garbage bag, stuffed it with Pam's empty shopping bags, and hustled outside the house to drop off my clearly overflowing garbage.

"Oh, hi!" I waved to "Foxy"; she was, after all, almost on Eric's lawn. _Whore_. I tried to upbraid myself for the un-Christian thoughts, but the undone strings of her bikini weren't helping me.

She looked startled. "Good morning," she said politely, and I could see her eyes sweep the street for signs of a stranger's car. "You're visiting Leif? I didn't know there was company on the street." She smiled, but her teeth didn't show.

Gran would've boxed her ears for that kind of nosiness. My own response was much nastier. "Oh, I didn't drive." I pretended to be bashful, rubbing my neck and giggling just a little. "He brought me here." Let her chew on that. I rubbed my neck again, hoping for once Eric had left a hickey.

"Oh, how nice to meet you. Sure hope you come around a lot." She smiled and again I didn't see teeth. Either she had a real bad dentist or a real bad attitude. "He works so much, doesn't he? Not a lot of time for himself, best I can tell."

I could see what she was thinking: the house was dark all day and Eric only appeared at night, so presumably, he worked all day and, poor thing, came home at night to rest. It made sense, if you didn't know him at all, or if you had only met him once. I caught a memory from her head of Eric answering his door in his boxers, toweling water off, as the woman and a bunch of Girl Scouts solicited him for Girl Scout cookies.

She'd wanted to solicit him for something else. I snorted. I guess they don't have merit badges in _that. _

"Yes, he works so hard. I'm always encouraging him to take it easy." I sighed theatrically. "Well, let's hope I can keep him off his feet, eh?" I winked, just to make sure she understood the lines. She did; her mouth tightened and she smiled fakely again.

It was bitchy of me, but what could I do? I didn't want Miss Desperate Housewife coming around with her skanky undone top when I wasn't around.

As I marched back into the house, I decided not to tell Eric any of this. For all I knew, he'd start answering his door buck-naked, just to send the poor little Girl Scouts into early puberty (if the sight of him wet and half-dressed hadn't done it already).

'Course, I wouldn't be able to tell him any of this until he woke up for the night. Time for the last item on my list: to see if I could get some research on this Jerry. Amelia had said Bill overlooked the obvious Internet research last time, so maybe I could do it.

I found Eric's computer in his little office room. It had a big poster of an old sailing ship on one wall and a framed _Fangtasia _poster on the other wall. It was purely a work space, I could tell—a few papers, the computer, a locked filing cabinet, that was it.

I sat down. First step: to figure out the password. Eric had told me there'd be a hint. I glanced around and saw a post-it note with…I frowned. A hand-drawn set of boobs? I rolled my eyes and typed in "BOOBS."

No dice. I frowned. "TITS."

Nope.

"RACK."

Nada.

"HOOTERS." I wondered if Eric had ever gone there. It seemed like his kind of place.

No-go.

Ugh. I cringed. "JUGS."

The computer beeped at me in rejection again. And probably in outrage. "Sorry, sorry." That wasn't Eric's way of talking about women, anyway.

Oh! Maybe he was going for subtle and classy for once? "BREASTS."

Nope.

Maybe he was playing a joke? "CHICKEN."

Nope.

"What the hell?" I glared at the post-it.

"NIPPLES."

Nope. I swear, the computer was gleeful. The monitor seemed to glow more brightly as I grew madder.

"DD."

Nada. I leaned back and folded my arms against my own— "Oh, hell."

"SOOKIE."

The computer whirred happily and started up. (Just like its owner.) The desktop was the photo on Eric's desk, with Claude mostly cut out so that my chest and the side of my face were the majority of the desktop. I wondered if Pam had set that up, just to tease him.

I navigated easily to the Web browser. I'm not the most computer-savvy girl, but I've used Sam and Amelia's computers before, and of course having to sit there for hours watching Bill's back bent over his did teach me something.

Or more than one thing.

"Focus!" I ordered myself and pecked in "Gerald Bratt" into the search engine.

It took a few tries but I found that social networking place Langdon had been on. Surprise-surprise, one of his buddies was "Gerald." "Gerald" didn't have an image, but I figured it was a good enough lead for now. I poked into Gerald's page.

He apparently was on the computer a lot during the day—lots of personality quizzes, all telling him things like his Monster Name, Politician Name, and Vampire Name. (That made me raise my eyebrows, but I didn't see anything else indicating he was especially affiliated with vamps. In fact, the vamp quiz had a linking human-name quiz, and both seemed pretty popular time-wasters on this website.)

So he wasted a lot of time. Who didn't? I chewed my lip. He didn't have a lot of friends—I went to sort through them. One red-headed face stood out.

"Oh!" It was Quinn's secretary, listed simply as "Jay." I followed the link to "Jay" and discovered his full name….Jay Bratt.

"He's the brother? But he looks nothing like Jerry!" Yes, genes were a strange thing, even when Supes were involved, but _still_. This guy could've fallen out of Boston, with his translucent white skin, red hair, and blue eyes. I looked around to see if there was more I could find, but "Jay's" site was for his friends only and the computer told me I'd have to his friend to see more.

Well, no, I did most certainly _not _want to be Jay's friend, especially right now. I considered calling Quinn and warning him—of what? What if Jay were working for—but no, I discarded that. No matter what, Quinn would resort to that. I just knew it.

And that didn't mean Jay was necessarily guilty of anything, either. Siblings didn't always conspire. Look at Jason. If I were to be held responsible for everything he did—well, I shuddered to think of it.

I sobered up. I guess Jason didn't want to be held responsible for all of the stains on my hands, either.

"Okay, focus, focus, focus." I went back to Jerry. Beyond the quizzes, I found out, he liked to pick his favorite five things of the day. Again, just a time-waster. (Did he not have a job beyond attacking me, I wondered? Or were the Fangtasia vamps just really boring prey? Eric would not be happy to hear that.) No job listed—but then I guessed there wasn't a category for "assassin/arsonist."

I peeked into his photos. Yep, if there was ever a doubt, there was Jerry—he was even posing with Langdon in a few shots, holding beers up at Tracks. And Jay was in a few shots too, now that I knew to look for him. But what else could tell me more about him? I chewed my lip and clicked "next."

"Oh, hell!" It was a dark interior, but I knew instantly where it was. As horrified as I was to see Jay in Quinn's employ, this was something else entirely, something that made my very heart chill over. The red lighting, the glowing white skins—Jerry was at Fangtasia.

_AN: Thanks for your reviews! :k, as Eric would write. _


	49. Chapter 49

"Oh, hell!" It was a dark interior, but I knew instantly where it was. As horrified as I was to see Jay in Quinn's employ, this was something else entirely, something that made my very heart chill over. The red lighting, the glowing white skins—Jerry was at Fangtasia.

"Oh, no, oh, no." I was speaking to nobody in particular, biting down on my knuckles. Why was I so upset? Jerry had arranged for the bombing of Eric's car, tried to burn down Pam's house, probably tried to burn down Fangtasia as well, and that was just starting the list. Surely he'd been near Fangtasia before?

But something felt very different to me, as my eyes trained on the image. He'd been within feet of Eric. He could've staked him. Or Pam, or any of the vampires. _He'd been right there, and he could be right there another time, if he wanted_…

The exclamation that came from my lips would've made Lafayette proud: "Oh, hell, no!"

I started moving before I even thought about it: I went to the trash, found some old junk mail, and jotted down Eric—that is, Leif's—legal mailing address. I wouldn't be able to go where I wanted without knowing where I was, after all. It took me a couple more minutes to yank the directions from the printer, grab my purse and the keys, and go.

I wasn't driving the Corvette, in case you asked. No, I didn't dare touch that one. Eric had picked up a "spare," he told me, and since he suggested I make use of anything in his house—well, it counted if it was in the garage, right?

Besides, it was the Batmobile. He'd apparently broken down and purchased it, rather than returning it to the dealer. I had fond memories of that car, and particular fond memories of the way its windows were tinted. When everyone wants to kill you, it's kind of nice to know they can't see if you're in the car or not.

That said, I was the one in the mood to kill now. I floored it to Quinn's. I had no idea what I meant to do there—I couldn't beat up ol' Jay, and I didn't want to deal with Quinn, either. But the thread was there, the thread that would end in stopping this, and I wasn't going to twiddle my thumbs all day while some bastard tried to take out E—the vampires I cared about.

The Batmobile was going pretty quickly; I could see how it would be easy to get speeding tickets in this thing. I tried hard to maintain the proper speed limits. All things being equal, I really did not want to bring home the Batmobile either damaged or with tickets attached.

(Although I had a feeling Eric would just laugh his rear off at me, if I did get a ticket.)

In due time and with the music blasting appropriately, I swung the Batmobile into Quinn's offices. I didn't know if he was in today, or even at this time. (It was too early for the vamps, after all, who worked with any E(E)E events.) But maybe this Jay would be here. Why hadn't I been paying attention to his mind, damn it? Why had I been so stupid as to try to block everybody in E(E)E when I was blocking out Quinn?

"Damn it!" I hopped out of the Batmobile and wove my way into the E(E)E building. I didn't see Quinn around (thank God) and I had no idea what I was going to say to Jay, anyway. "Did you know your brother is an asshole?" is never a good opening line.

I slowed as I approached Quinn's foyer. What would I say, really?

I got lucky, because Jay wasn't at his desk, anyway. Nobody else was, either. Following my senses, I ducked around the desk, trying to look hard at the papers and what was on the monitor—nothing that screamed evil conspiracy, just lots of listings for wedding flowers. (Which might be another conspiracy, given some of the costs I saw listed.) No pictures, either, that could be of any use—

"I'll get right back to you sir, let me pull up these numbers…" His voice was echoing in the office hallway. Jay was coming back!

Oh, eff. I did what any good top-notch investigator would do—I threw myself under the desk.

It was actually kind of roomy down there. I don't know what kind it was, but if you ever need to hide under a desk, I'd recommend this one.

I would not recommend Quinn's cleaning staff, however, as I saw an aged Cheeto, a petrified French fry, and paperclips down there with me, enjoying the darkness. I just hoped that was all that was enjoying the darkness. I'm no coward—maybe I'd be smarter if I were—but there are some sights I just don't want to see up-close and personal.

Jay was settling into his chair now. I bit my lip and scooted further back under the desk, still having no idea what I was doing. Well, hell. At least I could use my curse—and not the monthly one. I focused myself and tried to listen specifically to Jay.

_Could this computer get any slower? God damn Vista, freakin' network connection…If that janitor's been looking at porn on this computer again, I'm going to kick his ass…Can't believe that we have to get this Hurley wedding done in three days, we're going to be here all night, ugh, where did I put the folder_…

Okay, so color me not impressed so far. Jay's mind was spectacularly uninteresting. I tried not to yawn and made myself keep listening. At least he was a loud broadcaster, I told myself, trying to be grateful. My knees were already feeling not-so-grateful about being jammed under the desk.

Suddenly, something yanked my attention back on top of the desk.

_I'm going to miss dinner, damn it. Supposed to meet Jerry at the bar_, _he needs to get out, needs to be with people with warm blood for once. Guess I'm a hypocrite, since I work for these guys, but at least some of them are out in the day, unlike Jerry's piece of ass. Although she is one hot piece, got to give him that, could ride her all day—well, guess not, with the whole dead thing…_

I was torn between throwing up and listening in. I forced myself to keep listening.

_Wonder what it feels like when they're dead? I mean, seriously, isn't it cold for your dick—_

Okay, there were limits. I waited a good minute, and tried again. Now he was just thinking about the cost of gas and the expense if he wanted to get out of town for the weekend. I leaned in avidly, hoping this would lead him back to the subject of his brother.

That was my undoing. He kicked his leg out abruptly—to shake off a kinked muscle, I guess—and his foot hit a bit more than air.

"Oof!"

"What the fu—" I saw the legs snap back, the chair scooting back.

I didn't have time to think, so I didn't. Gran always said to follow your gut; well, I doubted she'd ever envisioned this, but I was following that gut.

"Oh, baby, you startled me—I was coming to surprise you," I began in my best Sex Kitten voice. I leaned forward and slid my hand across the tops of Jay's knees. "I wanted to give you…" And here I let myself, finally, look Jay straight in the face (his eyes were definitely not on mine)—and screamed for all I was worth.

"Oh, my Lord, you're not Quinn! Oh, you awful pervert!" I am sure my scream could've broken the glass windows, were they not already supernaturally enhanced. I scrambled to get to my feet, still wailing.

Jay, for all of his other qualities, was still a Southern man. "Ma'am, no, please, you've got it wrong—sit, sit, please—" He was on his feet, too, gesturing in vain to his chair, but keeping his hands far away from me, as if to reassure me he meant no harm.

"What the hell is going on here—Sookie?" Quinn's booming voice cut through my shrieks, causing Jay to jump even farther away from me.

"It was an accident, sir, I swear," he began, looking desperately at me. "She was, she was—" His dilemma was obvious. To mention a lady was up to no good, or not? "Ahhhh….waiting in the wrong chair."

Quinn was not stupid; he cut me a sharp glance but didn't criticize Jay's story. "Sookie?"

I was grinning as if I won the lottery, the grin Tara told me always made her think I'd gone officially nuts. "I was just, um, coming to surprise you…" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jay become redder. "I guess I picked the wrong chair." I pouted.

Quinn was no idiot, but I guess I look enough like the stereotypical bimbo that Jay, at least, was buying it. That's all I hoped for.

I guess my ex-boyfriend was amused, at least, because I saw his white teeth as he smiled. "Come and _surprise_ me then, babe." Quinn grabbed me by the wrist, and marched me into his office.

The door clicked shut behind us. My ex-boyfriend, with whom I'd had a heated conversation when we last met, faced off with me.

"Can he hear?" I whispered, pointing to it. The walls at Merlotte's were paper thin, and you could always hear when Sam, at least was laying into some late vendor or a cook who didn't show up. Not in the sense that Jay thought Quinn would be laying into me, that is.

"Soundproof. Care to share what the hell is going on, babe?" It was a measure of Quinn's concern that he didn't even go to sit down before confronting me, either about my return to his office or the unique circumstances of it.

I stepped away from his hands on my forearms, remembering with whom I kept company nowadays. "I was investigating something, okay?"

"That situation at Fangtasia." His brow was furrowed in concentration.

"Right." Normally, I don't let my shields down around the people I care about, but I eased them down just a second:

_What the fuck is she up to? She looks hot as always—wonder if Northman's in the picture or not. Probably doesn't have much time for her now, if she's doing this to save his bar. Wish they'd settle this fast—she doesn't need to be in more danger. _

I let out a breath I wasn't aware I was holding.

"Babe?"

I blinked. "Oh, sorry, I just felt a little woozy for a second there." I felt bad for lying, but I'd sure feel a lot worse if he knew I was reading his mind deliberately.

Immediately, as I had known he would, he'd guided me into a chair and sat down on one himself, leaning far out of it so he could watch my face.

"So what did you want to know about the front office? Or did he catch you on his computer?" For the first time, his tone hardened, and I got why at once. Even if you care about somebody, you still don't want him or her violating your client privacy.

"No, it didn't have anything to do with your clients." I decided to lay my cards on the table. Or at least one. "What do you know about your secretary there?"

"Jay?" He looked astonished. "He's been here for years. Quiet guy, good worker."

"Has he ever said anything, um, not tolerant about vamps?"

"Here?" Quinn raised an eyebrow. "He wouldn't be working here if he did. We work with too many vamps and other Supes to put up with that bullshit."

_Duh_, I told myself. Stupid question. I smacked myself mentally on the forehead and tried to frame my next one. "What about his family?

"Family?" For a second, Quinn looked as if I'd asked him Jay's shoe size. Then I remembered Jason's shock when I'd asked him Hoyt's favorite color one day. Despite knowing Hoyt since childhood, Jason hadn't bothered to learn the basic details of his buddy's life. Jason told me men "just didn't talk about stupid shit like that, Sook."

"Yes, family," I said wearily. "Parents…kids…siblings?"

Quinn's frown was dark. "We don't discuss private lives, but let me see here…" He went over to his computer and started punching things in. "Yes, okay, here it is. Child of a parent's first marriage, only sibling is a half-brother from the parent's second marriage."

I was so tired I almost snickered. _He's a red-headed stepchild_.

Quinn continued, "No suspicious activity out of parents or brother." His eyes focused on me. "We have to monitor these things in our work, you understand."

"Sure, of course." Made complete sense. You couldn't host weddings of the year if crazed bigots showed up in the middle of them, right?

"You said his parent got remarried—what happened to the other one?"

"Mother was the one who remarried, father is out of the picture," Quinn read from his computer. He glanced over at me and shrugged. "He's never once indicated any family issues to me, babe."

And Quinn would know. He didn't just have family issues, he had a whole subscription.

I nodded meekly, so as not to draw his attention to just that point.

"I think his brother worked here or temped here—do you have that record?"

Quinn worked the computer again, then shook his head. "If he did, it was so low-level we didn't keep records." In other words, paid Jerry under the table. I just nodded again and bit my lip.

He spun back to look at me. "So what's going on, babe?"

"Just a lead, nothing new," I said automatically. My mind was on what the next step was: Jay had given me info, but nothing specific enough. Should I go right to the dragon's den and look for Jerry himself? It was daylight and I couldn't hope for a vampire intervention if things went sour; but if I waited for Eric and Pam, Lord knows what they'd do to him (actually, with Pam, I had a pretty good idea) before we even got a chance to settle who sent him, or why—

"Oh, babe." Quinn's big hands were on my shoulders, making me jump. "Look at you, worrying yourself away over the bloodsuckers." That was the first time I'd ever heard Quinn be so nasty about the vamps, and I'd have been alarmed, but I was already concerned about the hands trying to massage my shoulders.

I grabbed his hands with mine and tugged. No movement. "Please, just st—"

"Please what, babe?" His voice was by my ear. He clearly thought I was a lot more interested than I was. Quinn's an attractive man, and he'd sure rocked my world once, but that boat had passed a long time ago.

I shoved at his hands with everything I had—they moved. "Stop, for one." I rotated to face him. "I appreciate the help, really I do, but I can't do….that." I waved a hand between us.

"Can't or won't?" Storm clouds were friendlier than his face.

"Either, does it matter?" I sighed. "It's done, Quinn."

"You're with Northman, aren't you." It wasn't a question; his tone was flat. "I smelled him on you, you know." His arms folded over his chest. "I thought maybe I was wrong, or maybe you'd just been visiting there and that's why the scent was on you." His jaw was tight as he looked to the side. "But that's not why, is it?"

"I thought we covered this before, when I said that was none of your business." I grabbed my bag.

"But he does, don't you see?" His hands on the back of the chair, he leaned over me, face desperate. "If it weren't for him, we'd be together, babe."

"For the last time, Quinn, that's _not_ it."

"Tell yourself what you want, babe," he huffed.

I am not known for my patience. I lost it. "Fine, Quinn, you're right. Dead right. It's always been Eric." His jaw dropped. "That's right, I have been thinking about him non-stop since before I even met you, and even when you and I had our time together, guess what? _I was thinking of him_." I threw down my purse, rose to my feet, and leaned over the desk to glare down at him. His eyes glowed yellow, but I didn't care. Let him try to claw at me. I was in the mood to remember some animal shows I'd seen on TV, and how they went about neutering critters. "And now you keep on trying to get back together with me, even when I keep telling you no, and guess what? _It's not going to happen because I'm still with him_." My voice was at max volume now; I really hoped those walls were soundproof. "And even if I weren't, even if I were free, I'd _still_ want him, because he's funny, and sweet, and sexy as hell, and the way he kisses ought to be illegal, and his butt—oh, my, if that thing were candy I'd be eating it all day!—and, oh, yeah, just a little something important," I hissed, leaning low over the table at him now, "--he definitely knows what the hell 'NO' means, unlike _you_, so are you good and happy yet?" I was yelling by the time I was done, waving my hands around in a way that would have made Tara proud.

"Not really, but at least you're admitting it," he said soberly.

"Admitting what? Lord, Quinn, can't you listen?" I wasn't even yelling now; I was too tired and exasperated.

"I think you can't listen, Sookie, to yourself." He gave me a wan smile and I had nothing to say to that.

I left in a lot quieter mood than when I'd gone in.


	50. Chapter 50

I am not known for my patience. I lost it. "Fine, Quinn, you're right. Dead right. It's always been Eric." His jaw dropped. "That's right, I have been thinking about him non-stop since before I even met you, and even when you and I had our time together, guess what? _I was thinking of him_." I threw down my purse, rose to my feet, and leaned over the desk to glare down at him. His eyes glowed yellow, but I didn't care. Let him try to claw at me. I was in the mood to remember some animal shows I'd seen on TV, and how they went about neutering critters. "And now you keep on trying to get back together with me, even when I keep telling you no, and guess what? _It's not going to happen because I'm still with him_." My voice was at max volume now; I really hoped those walls were soundproof. "And even if I weren't, even if I were free, I'd _still_ want him, because he's funny, and sweet, and sexy as hell, and the way he kisses ought to be illegal, and his butt—oh, my, if that thing were candy I'd be eating it all day!—and, oh, yeah, just a little something important," I hissed, leaning low over the table at him now, "--he definitely knows what the hell 'NO' means, unlike _you_, so are you good and happy yet?" I was yelling by the time I was done, waving my hands around in a way that would have made Tara proud.

"Not really, but at least you're admitting it," he said soberly.

"Admitting what? Lord, Quinn, can't you listen?" I wasn't even yelling now; I was too tired and exasperated.

"I think you can't listen, Sookie, to yourself." He gave me a wan smile and I had nothing to say to that.

I left in a lot quieter mood than when I'd gone in.

I was too annoyed to drive off immediately, so I checked my cell. Call missed—Jason? Voice mail, too. "Hey, Sook, that vamp didn't kill you, did he? Call me."

Well, on Jason terms, that'd be a "I miss you." I shrugged, turned down the radio (playing the latest Fellowship ad, set to the tune of "I'm Walkin' in Sunshine"), and hit the dial-back button.

"Shit, Sook, you almost missed my lunch hour," was his welcoming response.

"I'm sorry if I'm delaying you—I just wanted to say I'm fine."

"Yeah, thought so." He was clearly chewing on something, making lip smacking noises worthy of a farm animal. I hoped Gran couldn't see this from wherever in heaven she was. She'd consider coming down just to tell him off for such manners. "The big vamp has such a hard-on for you that I figured he wouldn't kill you or nothing."

"A _what_? Never mind!" I covered my eyes with my hand, as if to ward off Jason's forthcoming, entirely too literal explanation. "I don't want to know. Anyway, yes, I'm fine and I'll be home later."

"You going to cook tonight? I might swing by. I stopped over in the morning but your roommate wouldn't give me any of the breakfast she'd fixed up." I grinned; I knew just what Amelia had said to Jason there. "Can you believe that? Oh, and she wanted to know where you were, so I said the big vamp was with you, and she got all worked up over it. Said he was going to yell at you?"

"Yell at me? Why?"

"Dunno, she just said he was probably giving you a good tongue-lashing, something like that—oh, hell, it's time to clock back in. Gotta go."

I sighed and clicked off the line. I should've just sent a text to everybody in Bon Temps: "GONE TO GET SOME. BB IN THE MORNING."

It would've been a whole lot faster.

Amelia picked up just as the radio was playing the newest Supe-influenced remake. ("Save a Horse, Ride a Vampire.") "Good music, eh, roomie?"

"No comment. Jason said he'd spoken with you and you were concerned, so I thought I should check in."

"Concerned?" Amelia let out a bark of laughter, so loud it made my ear drum ring. "I told him you were probably getting the best sex of your life, and he shouldn't be worried. Hot and Blond was going to keep you pretty busy, I figured. Why would I be concerned?"

"I guess he didn't see it that way." I tried not to reconstruct their conversation in my head; it was too mortifying.

"So…." Her voice turned sly. "Where _did _you go? Did he just keep you in Fangtasia all night, in some sex cellar or something?"

"Ewww, no!" Actually, to my embarrassment, the idea wasn't too off-putting. What was Eric doing to me? "He just took me back…to his place."

It was like I was twelve again and JB had just kissed me on the cheek at Tara's party. The squeals over the phone were enormous and I blushed, feeling stupidly proud of myself, at the same time. "Oh, my GOD. What was it like? Oh, wait, did you even get to see it or did he just throw you down once you got through the front door?"

"We made it to the bed, thank you very much!" Although it wasn't on first try, I remembered, and giggled. "It's pretty normal—nothing scandalous." Well, except for Eric's underwear drawer, but I wasn't going to talk about those things. (And no, I hadn't gone through his drawers—he'd pushed his aside to make room for mine, so it was hard not to see the scraps of fabric nearby, and wonder how the heck they covered anything.)

"Mmm, yeah. Pam said she'd set you guys up well. Did you find the chocolate bodysauce yet?"

"The _what_? Pam said _what_?"

"Oh, shit, I guess I shouldn't have said that." Amelia's giggle indicated she wasn't too embarrassed. Then again, she did talk to Pam a lot. "Okay, I confess. Pam let me know you'd be staying with Big Boss Hotness. I asked her what was going on and she said she was under orders to make you extremely 'comfortable.' " I could almost see Amelia's teasing smile as she said that. "Apparently, Dropdead Sexy said to make sure you had everything you could want, and she called me to make sure of some things."

That would explain how my tea had ended up on the shopping list, I thought.

"Plus, she threw in some things you might know you wanted, yet." She snickered again. "And we decided your sleep-shirts weren't going anywhere near Eric's house."

"Oh, I can thank you for that, huh? I could've frozen to death!"

She huffed. "Yeah, right. One, they're ugly and you know it. TweetyBird, girl? Tweety does not score. You should have HEARD what Pam about that outfit. Second, we all know Eric's engine would be roarin' to go, anyway—"

"Okay, you can stop that talk right there!" She cracked up again, unphased. "Besides, it's just one night, so you can save the giggling. I'll be back today."

"Oh, you think so?" she snorted.

"What do you mean? He's hardly going to chain me to the bedposts."

"Don't you wish," she shot back. "Let's just say, I don't think the invite was for one night only. Pam said this is _very_ unusual and he'd have her ass if you didn't feel at home there. Wonder why, hmmm, roomie? If it were just for a few hours to score and send you home?"

"Hmph." Actually, I had a lot more thoughts, thoughts that made the bubbling feeling soar to the top of my head and my cheeks turn red, but I hoarded them to my chest.

Amelia sighed. "You're no fun. I thought you'd spill some good details, finally. I was convinced his place would be some latex-draped sex den, and here you've finally been to the Holy Land, and you won't share the dirt."

"I already told you, it's normal," I said automatically. "And I haven't gone exploring." Well, too much. "I'm working on something here, though." I told her about Jay, Jerry, and my recent trip to Quinn's. Sam would moan and groan about my involvement with the vamps, but at least Amelia would cut to the chase, finding out the answer to our mystery.

She didn't go there immediately though. Instead, her first question was a cheerful, "So how soon after Eric gets up is he going to kill the Tiger?"

"There's no need. Quinn got the message, loud and clear." _Very_ loud and clear. I patted myself on the back.

"Yeah, but you're not thinking like a man, girl. Quinn put the moves on Eric's woman—that's you, hon--therefore Quinn must die. With lots of gore and pain, just to make Eric feel better, and then he'll set about making _you_ feel better." She giggled again.

"Sorry, I'm not down with the barbarian behavior myself," I said automatically. I was looking at the paper in my hand, dropped on the seat of the Batmobile when I'd first left Eric's place. Where he was sleeping right now, vulnerable as a new-born baby, and some horrible creature out there wanted to—I couldn't finish the thought; the pang in my heart hurt too much. I flicked the key in the ignition. "Amelia…"

"Uh-oh. I know that tone. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to think like a woman," I said, revving the engine and turning the Batmobile out of the lot.

"And that means?"

"I'm going to Jerry's."

The road flew away under me as I drove toward the neighborhood where Jerry lived. It was outside of Shreveport, but I reminded myself, I was off work and had a lot of daylight to kill before Eric woke up. That thought made me set my jaw grimly and hit the gas harder. Amelia had screamed at me for a good ten minutes before giving up—I was _not_ going to sit idly by while some creep tried to do in my—tried to hurt Eric and the Fangtasia crew. It wasn't happening. Not on my watch. I turned up the Kelly Clarkson song on the radio and sang along as I maneuvered the Batmobile into the neighborhood, trying to work myself up.

I parked a block away, just in case anybody was looking for a spectacular black sports car. Granted, Eric wouldn't be out in the daylight, but that didn't mean the sight of that car wouldn't lift eyebrows. I hoped that was far enough away to keep Jerry, or anybody associated with him, from seeing it.

I frowned as I slid out of the car. Jerry's neighborhood was small and had a lot of mixed housing, as if it were thrown together at the last minute. (Which it probably had been.) Some of the houses were nice little places like Jason's, while others were little more than trailers.

I put my sunglasses on and walked to the edge of the street, peering down the road. I planned to pretend I'd lost a dog if I were asked by any neighbors, but nobody was out. It was a workday, after all, and with the new government money going into construction, the men who weren't regularly employed were getting part-time jobs on the labor crew.

With a bit more confidence, I hustled down the street to Jerry's, again trying to keep up the illusion that I was looking for something. Pausing a bit as if to listen for a missing pet, I turned my feet toward his side yard and jogged up a tiny hill and behind the house.

Mission 1: Get there. _Check_.

Mission 2 was clearly going to be buying a sports bra, since the Pam-bought lingerie wasn't cutting it as athletic support (then again, I doubt that was its purpose), but I'd have to wait till I got home to Bon Temps to fix that. Just so long as I kept my boobs covered in this particular escapade, I'd be happy, I decided. Given my history, that would be a victory.

Mission 3: Infiltrate. (The word of the day from yesterday.) I loped around the back of the house, listening. No sign of a dog, good. I get along well with them—too well, I knew Eric would say—but I definitely didn't want to test any pet's loyalty to his turf.

Okay, so now for the actual issue of getting _inside_. Deep breath, Stackhouse. My chest moved obligingly. If Jerry were a guy like Jason (and I found it pretty easy to think of him as such), then he might be pretty lazy about details. Or he'd have one of those stupid fake rocks in which to keep a house key. I started testing the back door and rear windows, and pushing over every large rock I could see. Nothing, nada. I stepped up on one rock, right beneath the kitchen window, and put my foot on it. If I could hop up, I'd be able to peer in, and then—

"Oh! OHHH, thwit!" I screamed behind a hand that slammed over my mouth. Another arm wrapped around my chest, pinning me against a male body.

"Sookie!" The voice was low, quiet, but thank you, sweet Shepherd of Judaea, familiar. I melted back against him.

Mission 4: Get the Crap Scared Out of You—_check_.

Sam was in no mood for my relief. Actually, his mood might best be described as "pissed." And then some. He spun me around to face him.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?" His face, normally brown from time spent in the sun, had a distinctly rosy tint. It wasn't embarrassment. "The next time you get some God-damn fool idea of risking your neck, would you do us all a favor and get some fucking help? Christ!"

I hadn't heard Sam string together so many expletives in years. I would've reacted, and possibly have been irritated at his tone, but then I noticed the gloves stuck in his pocket, right next to a screw driver, and I burst into happy tears.

"Awww, Sook, don't cry, look, I'm just mad," he muttered, reeling me in for a hug.

"You're going to help?" I sniffled.

"Of course." He sighed. "Amelia told me what you were doing, and I had to. Otherwise, God knows what you'd do and what would happen to you." He gave me a half-smile. "And I guess Northman wouldn't be too happy with me, huh?"

I rolled my eyes. (What is it with guys wanting to get the scoop on your personal life?) Sam wasn't waiting around for my confirmation; he was drawing on the gloves rapidly, and heading to the back door. Two minutes later, the doorknob was disassembling in his hands.

I moved forward but Sam caught me before I could enter. "I'm helping, Sook, but one rule: if I say get out, you get out, you got me? You run and don't stop."

"Fine, fine," I hissed, and Sam let me past. He already knew what I'd guessed: Jerry wasn't home.

Automatically, I tip-toed into the kitchen. Sam paused to put the door back together, as I scoped it out. Nothing much of note here, I thought, until I got to the recycling bin.

"Bingo," I breathed, squatting down. True-Blood bottles, O Positive. And just O Positive, I saw.

"We don't know that's just one vamp," Sam pointed out. "Half the vamps in Louisiana ask for O Pos." That was true. It was the vanilla of blood flavors, I had observed; on TV shows, "nice" human homes always stocked a few, in case of a daylight-challenged visitor.

Sam tapped my arm, so we walked into the living room together. It had the normal degree of mess of any person who had a busy life—newspapers on the table, a few items of mail out, a jacket thrown over a chair, that kind of thing.

Nothing there. The only thing on the wall was a big photo of some of our football players in action. (I rolled my eyes and tugged Sam on the shirt this time, as his eyes glazed over in admiration.)

He shook his head and grunted. "Bedroom." Our eyes met in mutual revulsion, but I reminded myself this was for Eric, and marched on ahead.

It actually wasn't that gross (although I definitely felt queasy for invading a person's private space.) Sam frowned.

"He's had sex with a vamp."

"What?" I glanced at the sheets and then away.

"Not here." Sam inhaled again. "It's in his laundry there."

We both looked at the offending hamper. "Are you sure he doesn't just know, or hang out with vampires?"

"Positive." Sam looked away. "There's a certain scent when they—well, it's just clear."

I felt my face redden and looked around the room.

"So, okay, he's been busy." _I wish I knew with who, or whom, or whatever the hell it is,_ I thought to myself.

Sam isn't a telepath but he knew the point of what we were doing. "Stand back, Sookie." He leaned over the hamper and I turned my face away out of courtesy. In the past, I'd have happily checked out the display, but that wasn't right now, even if Sam had a pretty cute little caboose of his own.

Sam came up gingerly holding a pair of jeans and fishing at one part of them. I strained my eyes to see in the semi-lit room—"Oh, yuck."

Sam gave me a dark look and a nod as his fingers lifted a long hair from the fly. "Seems his friend is a blonde."

"Okay, a blonde." I fought down a gag reflex as Sam gently placed the jeans back in the hamper.

"A blonde vampire," Sam added, giving me a pointed look. I ignored him.

"How can we figure out her name?" I chewed my lip. "What do guys do, when they've got a crush or something?" Sam's face seemed stony, so I added hurriedly, "Don't you jot down your initials in hearts or something?"

" 'Fraid not, Sook." Sam chuckled softly. He started poking at the bed, lifting the edge of the mattress. "Your only hope is….nope." He set the mattress back down.

"What were you looking for? Do I want to know?"

Sam propelled me down to the bathroom (no luck: clearly one male occupant, from the lack of shower gel), and then back out to the kitchen. "Didn't you tell me once you'd found a stash of Jason's magazines?"'

"Oh, ick, yes." Jason had been sick once and like a good sister, I'd made him soup and tried to tidy up his house. That included remaking his bed, which led me to a horrifying visit from Jason's collection of dirty magazines. I'm not much of a drinker, but I sure had a few gin and tonics that night.

"And he put it…"

Grossed out as I was, it took me a second to realize what Sam meant. "Oh! There, yes." I paused. "So that's all guys' hidey-hole?"

"Not all, but a basic one, yes." I was tempted to ask him if he had stuff under his bed, but figured that wouldn't be appropriate. Particularly now, when he was giving me that soft smile that told me he'd be happy to let me look under his mattress any time.

I steered us hastily back to the topic. "Okay, so we know his, um, girlfriend is a blond vamp." Unless she dyed her hair, but vamp hair returned to its just-turned form so quickly that a dye wouldn't really hold for more than a day, I knew. Bill had told me this once when I had tried to ask him about his hair, which could alternately look very sexy or just plain awful. I always wondered if it was something to do with the vamping or some bad hair gene he had. I eventually had suggested a cut, he got all huffy, and then, well--

"Sook?" Sam's voice jerked me back to the present. "Got something for you here."

I followed Sam's voice to the kitchen table, where there was a check stub and some paperwork. "Your friend has a new job."

I leaned over the table and tried to memorize the information as quickly as possible—a placed called _The Red Room_. A letter left open on the table told us his employment was ready to begin; he results of a drug test had come back clean, with the exception of V, which was not prohibited. "Let the party begin," the welcome letter stated in clean, red script," and I wrinkled my nose.

"He works at a club? Oh, great." I didn't want to point out to Sam what had happened the last time I met this guy at a bar, but then again, I think Sam knew, from the look he gave me.

That look shifted abruptly as Sam's arm flew out, grabbing my shoulder. "Shit!" I heard nothing, but he was shoving me to the door. "Time to go!"

I went.

I dashed out into the backyard, Sam hot on my heels. I hovered, uncertain if I wanted to go back the way I came, or even if I wanted to go at all. Wasn't this why I was here, after all, to get some answers? Why run now?

Sam didn't give me a choice. He grabbed my wrist and hauled me to the nearby fence. Sam maybe smaller than Eric, but his wiry body is strong as iron. "Over!" he said, and in a flash, we'd both tumbled over the fenceline. I didn't get a moment to breathe—he'd grabbed me by the wrist and hauled me down the neighbor's yard, and then across another lot, before letting me slow.

We were a good few streets away from Jerry's now, as Sam let us slow down.

"What did you hear?" I managed. I'm in pretty good shape, but nothing like Sam, who was barely breathing hard. All of the running in his other form kept him pretty fit, I guessed.

"He was back." He stood there, waiting as I bent over at the waist, stretching my legs and catching my breath. "Wherever he was, he wasn't at work for the day."

"Makes sense—if he works for a club, it'd be open at night." I shot a regretful look backwards.

Sam caught that. "Don't you even get any ideas, Sook." His hands caught mine, turning me to face him. "Look, I know you want to shake down this guy for answers, but unless you're willing to go in there with a gun and are ready to use it on him, you're not ready to take this guy on yourself. Because that's what it is going to take to get him to give up the secrets of his woman, if he's any kind of a man." He squeezed my wrists. "I'm not saying you couldn't do it, if you had to." I closed my stinging eyes, trying not to think of Debbie Pelt. "But you're not the kind of girl to do that if you don't have to, is what I'm saying. And right now, you don't have to."

There wasn't much to be said after that—Sam led me down the block, following his tracking instincts. (I resisted the urge to make a crack about cheap GPS.) Not surprisingly, I found myself on the same street with the Batmobile (at which Sam sighed longingly) and Sam's car, parked right behind.

Sam apparently didn't trust me, because he followed me to the intersection before letting our cars part ways. And of course, just as I hit the road, my phone beeped.

Now, I might take a look at a message while driving my own car, but definitely not something this expensive. I ducked into a McDonald's and had a look.

I had a series of messages:

"I was bringing you ecstasy in a dream and am now awake and enraged. Why?"

A few minutes later:

"If there is a bruise anywhere on that skin of yours, I will see it."

And, oh, yes, a message from Eric's day man: "Mr. Northman wanted me to check in with you, make sure you had everything you needed…Call me, please."

I sighed. Damned bond. My extreme emotions today had done a number on my host. (I wondered briefly what he felt when I was PMSing, but he'd never mentioned anything, nor had he ever tried to push Midol on me out of the blue. And Lord knows, I'd never be one to ask him! Gran would have my hide before we'd talk about that!)

First things first, Eric: "I'm fine. Just getting a sweet tea."

He must've been awake, because he got back to me right away. "I want blood. Blood of whoever made you angry or fearful."

"That would be the IRS. Good luck with that."

Eric wasn't biting. At least, not my joke. "I do not need luck. Who dies tonight?"

I guess waking up early made him cranky. "Nobody, we can talk later."

Five seconds later—he must've been texting at vamp speed—I got my response: "Oh, we will, lover. We will."

I sighed and put down the phone. Yup, I was in trouble.

_AN: The "Save A Horse" joke was inspired by the hilarious comments on the wonderful skarsgardnews dot tk blog. _


	51. Chapter 51

Eric wasn't biting. At least, not my joke. "I do not need luck. Who dies tonight?"

I guess waking up early made him cranky. "Nobody, we can talk later."

Five seconds later—he must've been texting at vamp speed—I got my response: "Oh, we will, lover. We will."

I sighed and put down the phone. Yup, I was in trouble.

I had so many thoughts in my head that I wasn't even aware of where I was driving, just that I was keeping the gas down and letting the Batmobile fly. My bones ached from the loss of the adrenaline, and I was worried about Eric's mood. Was he going to be furious with me? Nothing could be done about that, I figured, but deal with it when I saw him—still, I didn't want to fight with him every second, especially not over things that were done and gone.

With thoughts like that in my head, I had no energy left to keep a firm track on my driving. Before I knew it, I was in Bon Temps, where the reality of my situation sunk in on me. I'd gone on auto-pilot, and auto-pilot had carried me to my home, not Eric's.

"Well, phoo," I groused, pulling up to the house. It wasn't worth getting mad over—I'd just do some errands around the house and check my mail before driving back to Shreveport. There was still plenty of daylight; I'd easily get back over there before Eric rose.

"Shit! I mean, hell, Sook, what are you doing here?" Jason jumped in the doorway, a six-pack of Coke in his hand. He hadn't bought it.

I gave him a tired glare. "Feeling thirsty?" It was rude, but I was starting to feel as if the Rattrays had gotten to me. Besides, even Gran would've agreed Jason deserved a reminder of decent manners on occasion.

He apparently needed more than a reminder. He gave me a blank stare. "Not just yet—thought I'd get something since I was in the area. Plus, Hoyt's a little dry, y'know."

I felt bad at my snappishness. Jason might have…lapses…in manners, but Hoyt was sweet as can be. "Sure, take some for him." I yawned. "You get home all right last night?" That ranked up there in the Stupid Questions list: he obviously did, since he was there, and I definitely did not want to know about his latest romp in the sack.

"Yeah, but it wasn't a good night for Jay, that's for sure." It took me a second to realize he'd descended to speaking of himself in the third person. Unless he was referring to…I sent up a hasty, but no less sincere, prayer. _Oh, sweet Lord, please let him just be talking about himself. If my brother has named any parts of himself, I really don't want to know. I'll be so good, God, I'll try not to think of Eric naked during the church service like I did last week, I'll be a good Christian and not wish to stake anybody, even the old lady who takes forever to write out her check in line at the grocery store, I swear…_

I don't know if the good Lord heard me, or if He just had other important business to deal with, but Jason didn't elaborate on what he meant by "Jay." He did keep speaking, though. "Your big vamp's sister sent me home, said there'd be hell to pay if I caught my dues at Fangtasia, whatever the hell that means."

I was too tired to fight over Jason calling Eric "mine." "She's his child, not his sister."

"You mean if her and me ever got to screwin' around—I mean, you'd be my aunt?" Jason looked properly revolted. "That's just sick, Sook."

It would take too long to explain vampire relations to him, so I gave up. "Oh, hell, never mind." He started squawking, as if to carry on the conversation, but I dragged myself to the bedroom to lie down. A good five-minute nap would do me wonders, given all the excitement of the day (and night.)

Those minutes were indeed doing me wonders. I grinned as the thoughts spiraled in my brain. I was planning how I'd wake up Eric tonight—the first time I'd get to see him rise, I realized. I'd always heard him get up when he stayed at my house before, but the hidey-hole at my place wasn't big enough to accommodate me as well as him. And even though he'd almost certainly be ticked off at my adventures in the day, I still wanted to give him a good wake-up for all he'd done for me.

I smiled as I imagined it. _"Oh, honey, I'm home," I said, throwing open my robe to reveal a fantastic piece of lingerie. I'd clearly lost thirty pounds off my butt and thighs and my body was putting Heidi Klum to shame. Even my lips—normally chewed up or stained pink from my Dr. Pepper lip balm—looked glossy and perfect, like when I just got my makeup done to go out, right before I'd drink something and stupidly lick it off._

_The room would have candles in it—electric candles, for obvious reasons. It smelled good. I smelled good. He smelled better. I'd climb up on his back—"why, good evening to you," I'd say to his lovely little butt—and then proceed to give him a massage of such depth that he'd feel it even when dead. I'd be so good at it that I wouldn't even break a sweat, like you normally do when giving a decent massage. Hell, even my hair wouldn't fall into my face. _

"_Good mornin'—or evenin'—starshine," I would whisper, and start a tour of my favorite universe. My lips traveled the streamlined indent of his spine, stopping at the top to allow me to nibble on the firm swell of his shoulder. I'd hear him breathe beneath me, maybe a sigh, and I'd push his hair aside to nuzzle his neck. Some devil would get into me and I'd lift his hair off his neck so I could press my lips firmly into the back of his head, right where the hairline met his neck. He shivered a bit as my lips slipped up to his ear, to trace the crevices there. _

"_Mmmm, I could wake up to this for all eternity," he'd mumble beneath me. _

"_So you're up at last? And here I was, all lonesome, Mr. Northman," I would breathe in my best Sex Kitten voice. Normally it came out sounding like I was Minnie Mouse, but for this moment, it sounded like a good take on Kathleen Turner._

_He growled and flipped us over so that I seated quite near an area of most importance._

"_You will never be lonesome for me," he grinned. A sudden movement of his lower body and I was tossed forward onto his chest, my hair making a curtain around us. His playful face softened. "I'm in love with you, Sookie Stackhouse." _

_Somewhere, violins were playing. I was giggling from the wild bubbles erupting within me; my skin was tingling, and not just because of his hands on it. He smiled, too. "I said I love you, woman. Aren't you going to answer?"_

"_Oh, Eric," I started moving down to show him my answer—_

"Oh, shit, I haven't walked in on a sex dream, have I? SOOKIE! Stop that, that's just gross."

"Whaaa…OW!" I came to with an ugly start, as a pillow hit me hard on the head. I lifted up to see Amelia standing there, phone in hand, purse in another.

"Look, I know Goldilocks is frosting your cookies regularly, but I don't need to see a replay, okay? Ewww." She made a face. "And Pam's on the phone, and she's pissed. I guess you didn't have your cell with you? Here's your purse, if it's in there." She tossed the purse on the bag, handed off the phone, and headed out, but not before making a rude gesture with her fingers and mouthing, "_Oh, Eric_," at me. I stuck my tongue out at her.

"Pam?" I groped at the phone. "Oh, shit!" I could see from the windows that the sky had darkened. My five-minute nap had turned into five hours.

She was not sympathetic. "Where the fuck are you? If you've gotten yourself injured, Sookie Stackhouse, I might just turn you myself, so I can have the pleasure of staking you—"

"What? What the hell? Pam, I just woke up!"

There was a silence. "So you are not fucking over my master deliberately."

"No! I can't believe you would say that!" Actually, I could, given this was Pam, and barracudas had nicer attitudes when it came to someone threatening their parents.

"I do not care." I definitely could believe Pam saying _that_. "My master is most distressed. You do not answer his texts, you do not answer our calls, you have gone missing, and he says you were frightened and angry before, but you will not say why."

"I'm sorry I scared you, this is just a big misunderstanding, really. Look, is he there?"

"No, and that is another reason I called you. Because if I can find you, so can he," she added darkly.

"Um, Sookie?" I heard Amelia's voice float up the stairs uncertainly. "You've got a visitor."

"Shit, shit, shit," I muttered.

"You said it." Pam's voice finally sounded, well, upbeat. "I have read on these things. He seeks affirmation, the human writers say. I suggest you do as Dear Abby suggests, and show him your love." She paused. "Repeatedly." She paused again. "This will make him a very happy vampire again."

"I'm sure," I muttered, before she could start advising me on what kind of knee pads to buy. "Look, I've got to go—"

"Have fun," she said coolly, and hung up, as I scrambled out of bed.

Amelia's head poked into the room. "Girl, he is _pissed_. What did you do? Did you finally bump pelvises with Sam or something?"

"No!" I shuddered. It had been very hard to think of Sam as anything like sexy when I'd seen his four-legged form. You don't baby-talk lovers as you do a furry friend. Come to think of it, Sam really was my furry friend. I choked down a slightly hysterical laugh.

"Get him a TrueBlood, please, and tell him I'll be down in just a second." I raced to splash some water on my face (best to get off the crusted drool, I found), and frantically grabbed my cell to see just how mad he was.

"Oh, shit."

"Cannot wait to inspect you for bruises. Be safe. :K " "Where are you?" "I do not know what you are thinking, but I like it." "? You have left?" Then there were three phone calls, apparently after dusk:

A warm, slightly irritated vampire: "My car is gone and so is my woman. Wherever can they be?"

A frosty Viking now: "You are either abducted or fleeing from me. I will find you. You will call me." It apparently occurred to him that I might not be able to under the "abduction" theory, as he added, in a somehow even more icy tone of voice, "If you cannot, tell the abductors they will have their manhoods for their last meal." He paused. "Fuck feelings." I could almost hear the slam of the phone as he hung up.

Then Pam: "My master has ordered me to find you. You had better get your ass back here or call."

I sighed and hung up the voicemail. Oh, hell. Time to pay the piper and reassure Eric of my existence.

He was definitely aware of my existence. He was pacing in my living room, untouched TrueBlood on the table. He hadn't even bothered to take off his leather jacket, which clung nicely to his shoulders. Amelia hovered by it helplessly, looking over her shoulder at me. He froze and his head snapped up as I came down the steps, his eyes trained on me as if he expected me to bolt. Frankly, from the chilly reception, a part of me wanted to do just that.

"Um, hi." He didn't answer, not even to smile.

A long moment passed.

"Oh, wow, will you look at the time, I better let the cat out, um, I mean, ahhhh, check on the frogs outside, ahhh, yeah, um, right, see you guys," Amelia started to babble and fled the room. She gave me a guilty shrug in the doorway before slipping out.

_Traitor_, I thought. Her exit gave me the shove I needed, though, to break this deadlock. I sucked in a breath and rallied my nerves. "Won't you sit down so we can talk? Can I take your coat? I can see Amelia got you a TrueBlood—"

The corner of his mouth quirked up just a fraction, but he shook his head sharply. "I'd rather yours."

I gulped and suddenly I was up against the wall, his hands above my shoulders, his face near mine. It would have been a frightening pose, but for the way his eyes were glowing at me, his features almost desperate.

"Why did you not answer me?" His eyes were on mine, glittering.

He tensed slightly as I slid my palms around his waist, the only change on his face being the eyebrow sliding up a fraction. "I'm sorry for scaring you." Now his face was a blank page and I kicked myself. Of course, Eric the Northman would never be "scared." Men, what can you say? "I just fell asleep. Really." I tried to smile at him, but my smile wavered nervously. It's hard to smile at a vamp in no-expression mode. You try to smile at a nearby wall emitting hostile vibes at you and see how well you do. "See, I'm okay." Actually, given the mood that dream had had me in, I was feeling a bit more than okay, and I squeezed him a little closer to me to hint.

"You fell asleep." He believed me, but there was a note that suggested he found that pretty amusing. Yup, there went the mouth quirk again. "Asleep."

"I needed my beauty rest. I'm only human, y'know."

"Duly noted," he said wryly. Well, at least he wasn't entirely pissed off now. Of course, we hadn't talked about what I'd done before I went to sleep…

"But you came here." He glanced around. "This is not safe, Sookie. I would have let you be, but right now, this—" –his head inclined slightly to indicate the living room—"—is not good." Now he was fully focused on me again and I felt like a chocolate bar in a microwave—melting straight from the center.

"It was an accident, I just stupidly turned the wrong way home and look, here I am."

"Indeed." I guessed that put to bed his first complaints, because he was suddenly dipping his head to kiss me, his tongue sliding teasingly against mine, his lips then turning to leisurely suck on my lower lip. You'd think this would make me cold, but my temperature was zooming up like I'd turned into lava inside. It didn't hurt that I tugged his t-shirt up so I could stroke his back muscles some. He made a deep-seated growl that resonated into my chest and I slid my hand down, trying to get my fingers under the tight waist of his jeans, when he started pulling back.

"Noooooo." Yes, I whined, my fingers clutching at the pockets of his jacket to keep him near me. Who wouldn't?

For all the fury radiating from him before, now he was grinning. "Not now, lover." He took my hand and tugged me to the chairs. "I wish to hear about your day." Up went the eyebrow again. "With no omissions, please."

Hormones arage and unsatisfied, I flounced over to the rocking chair. He just smirked at me and eased into the little chair, his long form stretching out to remind me of, well, his long form. I tried not to stare. Wasn't he in the least uncomfortable? He was definitely interested, I'd felt that—hell, could _see_ that—

"Lover," he interrupted me. I looked up at him defiantly. "Now?" He crossed his long legs—those long, long legs…and his fingers drummed on his knee, as if he had all the time in the world. Which, of course, he did.

Damn vampires. I glared; he grinned. Finally, I tossed my hair and decided just to get it over with. He couldn't be any more upset than he'd already been, anyway. "So I did some investigating today."

"Investigating." His brows went together. "I see. And by investigating, do you mean the New Orleans Zoo getting a new pet?" At my startled look, his fangs slid out briefly. "I smelled him, you know."

"Well, of course you did," I huffed. "Between you and Sam, I don't know why I bother wearing deodorant. What, are you going to start snuffling my laundry next?" That brought me back to what I'd been doing this afternoon and I blushed.

He noticed. Up went that damnable eyebrow, of course, as he slid a glance out of the corner of his eye. "You do know I am aware that our local shifter has been around you, too."

Worry is one thing; possessive bullshit is another. "And is that a crime?"

He smiled thinly. "It should be." He leaned back in his chair and relaxed. "I accuse you of nothing, you know. I know you are loyal."

"You make me sound like a dog," I said before I thought. Me and my big mouth, as always.

The corners of his mouth turned up. "I already know you desire no other bedmate."

Hmmph. Well, that just made me sound skanky, from my perspective, like I'd been scouting around for the guy who fit best…there. I blushed furiously.

He lifted his white hand to wave it dismissively. "I know something has gone wrong today. You have been angered, you have been frightened. I know you have been in the company of these mongrels." He leaned in to look at me. "Why do I sense these things around you, lover?"

"I'll talk, but don't yell, okay? I'm tired of people yelling at me today."

"Deal." He lifted his eyebrows when I went to move into his lap. I know it wasn't "me" to start cuddling when we'd just been fighting, but I was still tired, feeling a bit drained from squabbling and whether it was because of the bond or not, I don't know, but I just wanted to be close to him.

More than his eyebrows lifted when I arranged myself to straddle him, allowing our faces to almost touch. I rested my forehead against his shoulder, holding his cold hands, and told him everything. His reactions were not surprising. First, his hands tightened when I talked of going to Quinn's, and he let out a hiss when I said how things had ended. (I opted not to tell him everything I said, because I didn't remember it all, and Eric's ego didn't need inflating, anyway.) I rocked back in exasperation, wanting to keep a focus on his face.

"See, this is why I didn't want to tell you at first. I knew you'd get all…"

"All what?"

"Serial killer." I squeezed his hands again, and he laughed softly. There was a devilish glint in his eye now.

"So you were pretending you were under Quinn's desk, hmm? I would like to see if you fit under mine sometime."

"Maybe, if you're a good boy."

"Always, lover."

I rolled my eyes and proceeded into the next part of the story: Jerry's house. As predicted again, Eric was positively spitting nails at the idea of me going to Jerry's alone. He was so still I was sure he was concentrating on just not chucking me across the room. Finally, he let out a growling breath. "I see I owe the shifter."

"You don't owe him anything. I know Sam, and he's not helping me to get brownie points with you."

Eric's nostrils flared in a way that told me he knew, yes, just why Sam was inclined to help me, and he did not approve. He merely said, though, "I am in his debt."

Well, if it kept him from hinting around about neutering Sam, I sighed, that'd be all well. I remembered more than one time Eric had "innocently" asked me what Bob Barker (whom Pam had DVRed faithfully) meant by having all pets spayed or neutered.

Eric's thoughts had apparently gone down a different direction. "A blond hair, you say?" He frowned. "There are not many in my area." It took me a second to realize he was speaking about blond vamps in Area 5.

"Unless it was dyed," I pointed out.

He gave me a look. "You know our hair does not change that dramatically from one season to the next."

"True, true."

Eric was toying with my hair and about to make a comment when a sudden feminine shriek pierced the air.

"Amelia!"

I was on the couch and Eric was already at the door. "Stay here and stay down."

I'm no good for staying down and I knew what had to be done. I ran and grabbed the shotgun. It still made me queasy to hold it, but I wasn't letting my best friend and my—Eric out there all by themselves.

I dashed to the door and threw it open.

"YOU STUPID SONS OF BITCHES!"

Well, it didn't sound quite like Amelia was in fear of her life. I edged down the porch, peering out.

Oh, hell.

In the floodlight's glare, I saw a shining white pillar of rage—which would be my Viking—leaning over two young guys, both obviously wetting their pants. Next to them, Amelia was waving her arms around and cursing loudly.

I saw the reason for her cursing immediately: a hubcap had been removed from the Batmobile, and was at the feet of the boys.

"STUPID FUCKS, HOW DARE YOU—"

The boys were shaking, but they weren't looking at Amelia, I realized. Eric's jaw was moving—he was saying something, quiet enough that I couldn't hear, but effective enough that one of the young men looked fit to cry.

I rushed downward.

"Oh, shit, she's got a gun!" one of the kids moaned, before I realized I was still clutching the shotgun.

"Oh, hell." I handed the gun off thoughtlessly to Eric, who just gave me a mildly amused glance. "Bobby Sherman and Rick Leroi, haven't you got more to do with your time? What the hell was in your head?" I turned to my roommate and my vampire. "They're seniors at the high school and their parents would tan their hides if they knew about this."

"They can do that after I drain them," Eric snarled. One of the boys whimpered and I laid a hand on Eric's forearm.

"They're just kids, honey." Some "kids." Their thoughts made my skin crawl, but that was pretty normal for teenage boys. I didn't mention that to Eric; I didn't think there was any need to make him madder than he already was. "Look, you boys put that hubcap on right now." Eric's lip curled and the boys flew to the wheel, to pop the cap back on.

"And then I think you'd best get going, and be thankful you weren't hurt. What if we'd thought you were an intruder?"

"Yeah, I was about to kick your sorry asses!" Amelia snarled. "And, hell, Sookie might shoot you!"

"Thanks, Amelia."

"Anytime, roomie."

"Just one more thing." Eric stepped forward and murmured something low to the young men, who suddenly grew glassy-eyed and began stumbling away.

"Do I want to know what you said to them?"

He shrugged. "They may wear some interesting things at the time of their next practice." He handed the shotgun off to Amelia and reeled me in. "And speaking of interesting, what are we to make of your self-preservation instincts?"

"I guess I have none," I said cheerfully.

"Then you will not mind returning to Fangtasia with me." He tilted his head toward the newly restored Batmobile. "We have a situation to discuss."

_Thanks to all reviewers—your thoughts make me smile almost as much as Eric does!_


	52. Chapter 52

"Just one more thing." Eric stepped forward and murmured something low to the young men, who suddenly grew glassy-eyed and began stumbling away.

"Do I want to know what you said to them?"

He shrugged. "They may wear some interesting things at the time of their next practice." He handed the shotgun off to Amelia and reeled me in. "And speaking of interesting, what are we to make of your self-preservation instincts?"

"I guess I have none," I said cheerfully.

"Then you will not mind returning to Fangtasia with me." He tilted his head toward the newly restored Batmobile. "We have a situation to discuss."

I knew from the way he spoke that I had little choice in this particular matter. "Fine," I groused. "But let me get the keys."

"Don't forget your gun," Amelia offered cheerfully. _And be sure to try the bodysauce_, she was thinking, her mouth barely keeping her giggles in. I glared and stomped back to the house. It was childish, but I was cranky, what can I say? I ran to my room to change into a basic blue dress I'd picked up on sale at Tara's (I figured it'd be a good go-to dress for funerals and the still-unknown human date)—Fangtasia is definitely not the dressiest place (hell, some people barely dressed at all), but I wanted to do a bit more than my now-wrinkled jeans and T-shirt. I tousled my hair rapidly, like the magazines always suggest you do and always causes you to look like you just ran through a wind tunnel, frantically beat down my hair with a brush, grabbed my purse and keys, and fled to the door.

Eric had learned patience at some part of his vampire life. He'd been leaning against the porch railing, eyes half-closed in what I always think of as "down time," but they snapped open when I came out. Then their corners crinkled as he smiled. "Very pretty, lover." His hand was at my neckline suddenly, pushing a strap aside—

"Eric! What are you doing?"

He grinned down at me. "Just checking to see if everything…matched."

I swatted him on the arm. "That's for me to know and you to wonder about."

"Oh, I do." His hand touched my skirt momentarily; I squealed, gave him a little shove and he led the way, laughing, to the car.

Maybe because he'd already had the fun of making me thoroughly uncomfortable, Eric was in a pretty good mood when we got to driving. He didn't even complain about the driver seat being moved forward, which you'd expect. (It did take him a couple times to get the seat back in place, while I tried not to snicker at the poor bent-up Viking.) His only comment on my abduction of the Batmobile was to huff loudly when the local pop music channel came on the radio. I offered to change, but all he wanted was a minute to gripe.

"I have a radio with hundreds of channels, and you wish to listen to _this_?"

"It's Britney—I'd have thought you'd like her."

"Some parts of her." He cast a glance in the area of my "parts" and licked his lips.

"You are something, you know. Does it always come back to _that _with you?'

"To what?" Half of his mouth slid upwards in a very naughty smirk. "I do not know what you mean."

"Sex!"

"Oooh, talk dirty to me," he purred, and I couldn't help but smack him on the arm and burst out laughing, too. You had to laugh with Eric.

I felt his hand cross over the gearshift and onto my hand. "You are happy." His thumb made circles against my skin while I didn't speak. "You will be safe," he added in a firmer, heavier tone, almost as if to himself.

"Yeah, well, watch out for psychotic Supes around me. I have a record, y'know." I turned my hand to squeeze his back.

"Oh, I know." There went the little smirk again, just before he turned back to the road.

His face abruptly turned serious. "Lover, I want something of you." Even the hand clasping mine stiffened as he spoke.

I wanted to make a joke but he was so intense I couldn't bring myself to do it. "What?"

"Say 'yes,' " he said simply. For a moment, I caught my breath. Yes? As in, _the yes_ _? The question_? It made no sense at all—I mean, not that I'd consider it, not that I wanted that, but ---

"I want you to stay at my house," Eric continued. He was facing forward, eyes not on me. I was thankful; at least then he wouldn't see my face. "Your home is not safe. Now, at least." His jaw pushed forward. "I could help you more here. At least for now." He appeared to take a draw of breath. "I know you prefer your home, I know you will fight me on this, but it is for the best, Sookie." In the darkness of the cabin, I saw a glint of sapphire as he glanced over at me. His hand squeezed mine again, reminding me of our connection. "Come. Stay."

"Ahhh…" I didn't know what to say, especially when he was looking at me that way, or the way his fingers were stroking my palm as if I were a wild animal about to bolt.

"Stay with me," he said simply, this time using his rich dark voice to its full effect.

"I….guess," I mumbled, temporarily dazzled. Well, glamour me, damn it. Then again, Eric couldn't glamour me unless I wanted to be glamored…I pushed that thought to the side.

"Wonderful." He smiled fully now, his fangs prominent. "After Fangtasia, I will then take you home."

I nodded, still dazed, but a thought came to me. "Eric, if I have done you a favor, will you do me one?"

"Ask me." I did not know it was possible for his voice to get that low. Why he hadn't ever worked a telephone love line, I'll never know. The man would have made a killing.

But I guess he kind of already did.

I shook my head to bounce those thoughts away, and focused on the hand clutched in mine. "I want to do something, and I don't want you getting up on your high horse about it."

His hand broke from mine to turn down the radio, then came back to recapture my palm. "What is it?" He was giving me as steady a look as you can give while driving.

"Road, focus, please. Human, y'know."

He refused to be distracted. "I know very well. Now, what is it?"

"I want to go to a club," I blurted out. Eric's complete confusion would've been funny, but for the fact I had to explain, and he wasn't going to like that explanation very much. Rapidly, I filled him in—Jerry worked at the Red Room, was to start tonight, and—

"You wish to go." Good sign: Eric's voice was calm. Bad sign: Eric's eyebrow was up.

"Well, yes." Really, how was this not obvious? Did I look like I had a detective agency at my beck and call? (And one a lot better than the detectives of the Bon Temps PD. I like Andy Bellefleur fine normally, but he's no James Bond. And I don't just mean that he doesn't have the body of that nice Daniel Craig, whose _People_ magazine interview Eric threw away when he caught me ogling it) "I figured I could get in, since I'm not that noticeable, and I could maybe pick his head, find out more about his girlfriend—"

"You wish to go to this place where a man who has sought to kill you, Pam, and myself, is," he repeated. Uh-oh. I knew that tone—slow, patient, completely absent of inflection, which made it all the more accusatory. Gran used to take it when she'd walk Jason back through the steps of one of his misadventures, just to show how bone-headed his logic was. ("You decided to jump out the top window…because Hoyt said you couldn't. I see.") "And where would I be during this?"

He'd picked on the worst question to ask, of course. I hung my head and tried to get it out as quickly as possible. "Weeeeelll, see, I thought maybe—I don't know if this place is vampire-friendly or not, and seeing as how you're pretty distinctive—being tall and all" (even when he was on the verge of a fit, I didn't want to pump his ego by referring to his looks)—"—I thought it might be better if I went alone, y'know." I smiled my enormous serial-killer smile.

Eric was not taken in by my smile. Coolly, without looking at me, he said, "So although this person has attempted to kill you, me, and Pam, and I have just flown here to retrieve you for your own safety, you wish to go to his lair, alone." His fingers drummed on the steering wheel. I heard the blinker, which made me shudder; Eric was driving carefully. This was not a good indicator of his mood.

"Um…yeah?"

His own closed expression did not move a centimeter. He just stared off in the night for a long minute and then said finally, forcefully, "No."

"No?" Few words bust my chops more than that one, I'll admit. "No?" I turned fully in my seat toward him, regardless of the tug of the seatbelt. "Are you trying to forbid me from doing something?"

His jaw jutted out further, if that was possible. His eyes were slits. "For fuck's sake, woman!"

"I just want to find out who wants to kill _you_!"

"I do not give a rat's ass who wants me dead! I only care if you end up dead!" Eric roared.

I did what any good, independent woman does. I burst into tears.

The Batmobile was abruptly on the side of the road, its owner grabbing for some tissues from the overheard container.

"Sookie, do not cry—" Eric's voice was rough, but he wasn't yelling. He looked about as bad as I felt. Guilt gripped me.

"I'm sorry," I snuffled into the Kleenex, trying to discreetly hide the snot on my face. Even though Eric has seen me beaten and bloody, I still have my pride.

He huffed and squeezed my shoulder awkwardly. "Do not cry, lover, this will be well…"

"You yelled at me," I grumbled. Just because he was upset didn't mean I was letting him off on that hook.

I could see him nearly grinding his incisors off, but he went for it, bless him. "I did not mean for you to weep." I guess that was an apology, in Eric's way of thinking.

His mouth was suddenly by my ear. "Unless you wish to have pleasure enough to make you cry, that is."

That was more Eric's style of apology. I giggled, smacked, his arm, and he smiled triumphantly, no doubt pleased with his ability to stop my teariness.

We got to Fangtasia with no more incidents; Eric even drove smoothly enough that I could check my hair and make-up in the mirror. (He didn't even gripe about the light being on in the cabin for that, which I knew meant he was trying to be nice, and he threw in a couple references to what one could do in the dark, by which I knew he wanted to be _really_ nice.)

"Home, sweet home, lover," he said as we pulled into the Fangtasia lot. Without hesitation, he pulled into his spot. ("OWNER. ALL OTHER CARS WILL BE DESTROYED.")

I pulled off my seatbelt. "So what's on the agenda tonight?"

Never give Eric an opening like that. He grinned suddenly, in a way that made a hot pulse in my center. "You, you, and..." With the blur of vampire speed, I found myself lifted and arranged over his lap. You'd think that was uncomfortable, but with his hands on my thigh and on the back of my neck, it was the best place I could possibly imagine. His face was in front of me, his eyes flicking between my eyes and my lips. "…you," he finished in a soft, husky voice, before leaning in to kiss me.

Well, now. I forgot we'd been fighting; I just knew I really, really, liked his way of making up. Especially when his tongue was stroking caressing mine with the same movements as his long fingers dancing lightly on my thighs. Something else was pushing against my thigh, too.

"Mmmmphhh…" I moaned between the movements of our lips, pushing my hands up into his hair. He made some noise I took to be agreement as he pulled back, allowing me nip at the little cleft of his chin that always drove me mad. Eager to return the favor, he transferred his lips to my neck. I squirmed happily, to make other parts happy as well.

A slap of cold air made me jump. "Well, isn't this sweet," a familiar voice drawled.

That Pam. I blushed even rosier than I already was, thanks to Eric's ministrations, but there wasn't anywhere to hide my face. "Hi, Pam."

"So good to see you, Sookie. Master."

He'd lifted his mouth off my skin. "You seem to have forgotten the announcing rule, Pamela."

"Oh, that goes for cars, too?" Her laugh was silvery and tinkled. Like fairies, the kind that sucked all of your blood and pretty much were made of nightmares.

"We will have a talk about this later," Eric just growled.

"I am so sorry to interrupt. I wanted to ensure there wasn't an unauthorized feeding on our premises." Frankly, Pam would probably walk through a gauntlet of vamps feeding off wailing humans and consider it a good day.

"Right," I grumbled, fidgeting to adjust my dress. Eric's hands on my hips steadied me, reminding me my fidgeting wasn't helping his situation.

Naturally, she didn't seem in a hurry to leave. "I am so glad you found her, Master. Sookie, you will not believe what he was like today, when you were not answering—"

"Enough." Eric didn't raise his voice, but his tone was clear. Pam shut up at once, all teasing wiped from her face.

"My apologies, my master." She moved as if to curtsy, or kneel, I don't know, but Eric made a dismissive move of his hand.

"No matter. Let us go inside."

I was in a slightly awkward, and highly embarrassing, pose, so I was the one who had to exit the Batmobile first (naturally). At least my skirt was down, I thought, reaching back to grab the keys, and then Pam's hand. Pam helped me wiggle completely across Eric, and out the door. She said nothing to make fun of us, although she did lean in to tell me to wipe off what remained of my lipstick.

Eric slid gracefully out after me. I was worried about his discomfort, but I remembered vampires have no shame, and the cold evening air would put things aright shortly. For him, at least—some of us still had some sweat on our skin, I groused to myself.

"Victor is here," Pam said to Eric as he dusted off his shirt, and moved to the Employee entrance. I sighed as I walked ahead of him through it. Yup, that would mean a fun night, all right. Any hopes I'd had of talking Eric into going to Jerry's club, or just getting to continue our "discussion" from the car, went out the window.

My prediction was right. I ended up ensconced in Eric's booth while he disappeared to deal with Victor. I did get a quick kiss on the top of the head (some fangbangers in the booth next to me immediately thought, "_Bitch_") and immediate bar service for my time, at least.

I sat there and bopped to the music. A few vampires I knew asked me to dance but I didn't feel much like it. About twenty minutes into my waiting, I saw Pam materialize at my table. "Do you wish to feed, Sookie?" It took me a second to realize she wasn't suggesting I'd become a vamp. "My master believes you might be hungry." Her fangs came out as easily as the double entendre; with vamps, feeding is pretty much the same thing as sex.

"Very funny, Pam." As a matter of fact, I was feeling a bit peckish. I grabbed a menu and hastily ordered a basic sandwich meal, figuring even the undead chefs couldn't mess that up. (The vamp cooks all watch the Food Network faithfully, but lacking the ability to taste human food, their work is hit or miss, you might say.)

"Do you think they'll be awhile?"

"I do not know." Surprisingly, she slid into the booth across from me. "Felicia! Blood Mary!" The bartender nodded; I refrained from asking if just how bloody this Mary was.

Her drink slid in front of her and she turned to me. "It may take some time, it may take little. I know Eric does not want this meeting any more than you do." Her lacquered lips twisted. "He seems distracted and, one might say, frustrated."

"Oh, hush, you."

"I will. I am under orders." She didn't look thrilled about that. "I am not to tease you excessively."

I went to pat her hand, then realized the gesture wouldn't go over too well with Pam, who is about as cuddly as a zoo anaconda. "Don't worry about it, really. I won't say anything."

"That is kind." She fanged at me again from over a red-filled glass. She seemed in an open mood, so I asked her why Victor was in town, anyway.

She shrugged elegantly. "He is Felipe's representative, no doubt sent to make sure our Area is producing enough. It is all part of the testing, you see."

"Testing?" I didn't see.

"The stress-tests," she said, rolling her eyes as if I were a toddler. "Of course."

"Of course."

Had I thought this a casual conversation? Without warning, she struck. "So what the fuck were you doing today, to worry my master so?"

Pam clearly studied at the Eric School of Tact.

I sighed and got the whole story over with—bracing myself for Pam's comments on going to Jerry's. Surprisingly, she barely batted an eyelash.

"You should care more for yourself, for my master's sake," she said, but otherwise leaned in and listened to me intently. "Interesting," was her only other comment.

If Pam had a theory, she wasn't sharing, or in the mood to share, anyway. I sighed and made my escape to the ladies' room, to be alone with my thoughts, at least. I checked the time—at this rate, nothing was going to be done tonight. Lord knows when Victor would be done with Eric and Pam wasn't going to go off exploring at my hint.

I opened my purse to get out my lipstick and something cold brushed my hand. The keys. Mechanically, I applied the lipstick as my mind analyzed the possibilities.

_Pro: I got to see the Red Room tonight, and maybe find out something about Jerry's vamp girlfriend. Even if she wasn't around him then, I knew from experience, if you dated a vamp you tended to think about them at night._

I blotted my lips with a tissue automatically, still thinking. 

_Con: It was a suicidal move—if I didn't get killed, Eric would kill me, Pam would kill me, and Sam would make me rise from the dead just so that he could kill me._

I adjusted my hair, brushing a flake of mascara off my cheek.

_Pro: I might find out who is doing this, and keep Eric safe._

My hand shot into my purse and grabbed the keys.

It didn't take long for me to navigate my ways through the dark back hallways of Fangtasia, going by instinct. I tried to keep as clear possible of Eric's office as I snuck out the back employee exit—I'd go, and bring the car back, he wouldn't even notice. I darted out into the cool night air, pausing by the door to exhale. Safe!

It took me just two more seconds to hop into the Batmobile, and reach down to stick in the key. And one second more to give a tiny shriek as a white hand clamped over my fingers. A hand with red-painted nails, I saw.

"I cannot let you do this, Sookie." Pam gave me a chilly smile.

"But they're going after hi—after you, and who is going to stop them?" I cried out, frustrated.

"I didn't say you weren't going, did I? Move over." Her fangs shimmered in the moonlight. "I am driving."

_Thanks for all reviews!_


	53. Chapter 53

It took me just two more seconds to hop into the Batmobile, and reach down to stick in the key. And one second more to give a tiny shriek as a white hand clamped over my fingers. A hand with red-painted nails, I saw.

"I cannot let you do this, Sookie." Pam gave me a chilly smile.

"But they're going after hi—after you, and who is going to stop them?" I cried out, frustrated.

"I didn't say you weren't going, did I? Move over." Her fangs shimmered in the moonlight. "I am driving."

"You're not going to get punished for this, are you?" I asked somewhat anxiously, as Pam situated herself behind the wheel. This took more time than you'd expect, as she pulled a giant pair of sunglasses out of the purse that had just materialized on her arm, checked herself in the reflection, and then cranked up the radio. It was that poker song, and I thought she looked a lot like the singer, with the glasses that filled her face.

She gave me a cool look, but I had reason to worry. I'd seen Eric in his less-than-happy moments, and I definitely got the impression that _really_ pissing him off (as opposed to, say, just embarrassing him) was not on Pam's to-do list.

"You would go to this with or without me, would you not?" I nodded, not following. She grinned at me, the line of her mouth the only part of her face not hidden by those glasses. "Then I am protecting you, and Eric is in my debt." She pushed down on the gas and without checking the dash, I knew the Batmobile was going beyond legal limits. "Besides, some fuck screwed up my garden."

"Oh. Well."

"Yes." She nodded strongly. "Now, Sookie, here is our plan. We shall go there and if we see that fuck, I will kill him."

I began to rethink the wisdom of letting Pam come along, but it was too late now. "But what if he's working for someone else? Remember, he's hooking up with some blond vampire, Sam thought."

She wrinkled her nose. "Well, someone has bad taste." I didn't think she was referring to the human in the relationship.

"Do you know any blond vamps around here?"

She shrugged. "There are not that many in this area, but that means nothing. We move quickly."

"Okay, I get your point. But please, Pam, don't kill Jerry—right away, anyway. We need him to figure out who is doing this, or why." Her face was marble, so I added, "After all, it wasn't his original idea to trample your garden. Someone else ordered him to do that."

"_Fucker!" _she hissed, but not to me. In a more spritely tone, she added, "Very well, then, Sookie." She waved a glossy fingernail in the air. "But we must agree to these things. We must blend in and not be noticeable."

"Not be noticeable. Gotcha." I didn't comment on Pam's leather get-up. Then again, at Fangtasia, she blended in just fine. Who was to say she wouldn't blend in at this new place?

"And you will follow my lead and not get yourself killed, or Eric will have my ass."

Since getting myself killed wasn't on my agenda for the night, I had no problem with that request. We agreed to stay within each other's eyeshot and try to work the place for access to Jerry and, hopefully, information.

Our job got more complicated as we pulled into the well-paved lot for the Red Room. Pam sniffed irritably at the red velvet carpet spilling out the door, and then gripped my arm. "Vampires!"

I tried to scope the area as we approached the building. Yup; several voids within. "Is this a good thing or a bad thing?"

"It will not be a problem. Just do not mention his name until we know if we are amongst friends or not." I wasn't quite sure who would fall on Pam's friend list—other than Eric—so I just nodded. Keeping Eric out of this was fine with me.

"Well, okay, then."

I have to say it's a lot easier being brave when you have Pam walking next to you. She had only to curl her lip at the doorman before we were ushered in, and led into a large, round, red room. There were round tables strewn around, a live music presentation in the center, and lots of decorations (all in red, of course.) Pam surveyed it all with a slightly put-off air, and I understood why: no doubt about it, this place was several degrees classier than the tourist trap of Fangtasia.

"Our profit margin must be three times that of this dump," she sneered.

I didn't care what the profit margin was—I wanted to know about who worked there. I tried to check out the room and its occupants, but the place was designed so that tables fell in darker spots, helping to obscure who was present.

"See him?" Pam murmured, and I shook my head no. I couldn't even fix on his thoughts, given how many people were jammed into the building. Between their thoughts and the thumping music, I could barely concentrate.

"Then let us investigate." Pam hauled me easily to my feet and dragged me toward the room center. I got the idea quickly: she meant us to dance around the room as a cover for checking out who was present.

Dancing and spying are hard, I tell you. It's not just that we were trying to look at the people while dancing; it was the temptation of it all. I may not have many talents, but dancing is definitely one of them, and I kept feeling tempted to forget the room and just shake what my momma gave me. Pam had to keep whispering to me to "quit with the fucking booty drops already" to keep me on course. She even unsympathetically pushed me if I got distracted.

Which led to me barreling into someone else on the dance floor, of course. The minute I hit him, I knew we were in trouble. He was cold, far too cold to be human, and his hand latched onto my forearm with troubling strength.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" I gushed with an insane smile.

The flesh wall I'd hit was a vamp, no doubt about it. He wasn't that tall, had a mop of dark hair, and an unfortunate mustache that made him look like a walk-on to either a 1970s movie or a dirty film. I shuddered. He flicked an expressionless glance at me, but upon seeing Pam, his lips curled into a tiny smile. "Playing with your food, love?"

Her tongue flicked out to tap one of her fangs. "I prefer it shaken, not stirred." When the vamp didn't release my arm, she stepped next to me and slid an arm around my waist. "I'm rather fond of the vintage."

"Not intending on sharing?" Still not releasing my hand, Mr. Creepy gave me a once-over. It'd be mildly flattering but for the fact I knew he was contemplating the quality of my blood, not my body.

"I don't share." Pam's fangs were fully out now. "And you had best remove your hand or I'll remove it." She gave a shark-smile. "For eternity."

"Uhh…" I offered brilliantly. Neither vamp looked at me, of course—I was just the appetizer they were brawling over. Or about to brawl over, anyway.

"Hey, problem here, ladies?" _Oh, thank you, sweet Lord_. I exhaled and turned my eyes to our rescuer. Even if Pam could extract us from the situation (and I knew she could), it'd be a lot easier to do this in a polite social fashion, rather than Pam ripping off the vamp's limbs, as she seemed to want to do.

"Thank you—oh, hell."

"Sookie!"

"Well, shit, isn't this a sweet reunion," Pam spat.

It was Alcide Hevereaux, my almost-flame. We'd had a bit of a spark and there might have been more, but he had a few problems—namely, a bitch of an ex-girlfriend (and I do mean that literally), whom I kind of sort of killed (and I doubted he'd take kindly to that news), ongoing pack politics (into which he'd dragged me, much to my disgust), and now he had a new woman, best as I'd heard. Even if politics and the dead girl weren't on my mind, the new woman was a definite no-go. I'm a lot of things, but the Other Woman, I am not.

Alcide sure seemed shocked to see me, too, but not too shocked to be immobile. He swiveled by to Mr. Handsy. "I'd suggest you get your hands off the lady, right now."

Cold and Nasty released me, huffed, and shifted away. I had no doubt he was still listening to us; he kept glancing over. I was tempted to stick my tongue out at him, just to give him something for his peeks.

Alcide wasn't bothered with him. Having fulfilled his daily damsel in distress requirement, Alcide brought his attention back to us. I knew immediately when he saw Pam's hand at my waist, because his eyebrows fairly launched into his hairline.

"What are you doing here, with—"

"What does it look like, ass," Pam snarled. "Or should I say, _wolf_." Her fangs were still out, but her tone was poisonously sweet. "You're not the only one who likes—ooh, hmmm, how _do _you say it--pussy."

Not for the first time in my life, I wanted to disappear. You might as well have turned off the music—every male mind in the room was suddenly diverted to us, and a few women were now watching us, too.

Even Alcide did a double-take, despite the flare of red in his cheeks. "Really. You're telling me that Sookie is—"

"My lover. We have sex often. She is quite good." Pam rattled all of this off without batting an eyelash. Forget the music, forget the flaming dish that a waitress just placed on a table across the way—I was being bombarded with images from the men present.

"Thanks," I muttered. I meant it as a "thanks for making sure everybody in this bar has noticed us, Pam" thanks, not a "thanks for the compliments on my fake torrid love affair with you." I am sure some people, maybe some of those Hollywood types, really would love an entire room speculating on your sex life in graphic detail (well, except for the one guy in the corner who was confused about what-went-where), but I'm not one of those people.

I turned my burning face downwards, so as not to face Alcide's completely confused expression. That's why I didn't see Pam's hands lash out like a lasso, turning my face sharply around, and planting her own lips on mine.

That was how I kissed a girl. And I did not like it.

Not that there was anything wrong with Pam. I'm sure she's a fine smooch; her lips are soft, her movements languid and leisurely. That'd be just great—for those who are interested. I just knew the lips I wanted weren't covered in red lipstick, and while I was willing not to slap her in front of everybody, I definitely wasn't going to open my mouth to the little tongue that was tapping the seam of my lips. Some strange part of my mind taped this moment, looking for some similarity in the way Pam and Eric kissed; the other part of my mind was near hysteria, especially when Pam's hand slid up my side to caress the side of my breast very thoroughly, before pulling back.

"Satisfied?" Pam snarled at Alcide. Her eyes were bright and not from anger. Oh, hell.

"Not really," Alcide croaked. He adjusted his collar. "Ladies, I—I—have a message, I will talk to you later—" and he practically dashed away from us.

I bit my lip so that I wouldn't scream. "What the hell was that, Pam? Or should I say, sweetie?" I hissed out the side of my mouth. "And why the hell are you still holding my waist?"

Pam made a noise in her throat, almost like a stifled laugh. "We must make this convincing. We do not want anyone questioning why we are here, and not with my master." Her eyes were darting around the room. "Especially now that we have been recognized."

"Alcide's no trouble," I muttered back. "He actually did help me out a lot, before."

"He served his purpose." Her tone was dismissive. "Although the scarf was lovely, I will admit that."

"His purpose?" I'm a little worried about vamps with ulterior motives, I admit.

A line by her mouth hinted at a smile. "Lit a fire under my master, didn't he? You should've seen him when he realized the wolf had eyes for you. Oh, I have not seen him that furious in ages." She chortled. "He was almost as angry as when he found out about the tiger. Really, Sookie, you need better taste."

"I'm sure I do, since I am apparently dating you!"

At that, she laughed out right.

"And what do you think E—I mean, my boyfriend, is going to say about this?" I grumbled.

That did not have the effect I sought. Pam spun around, squealing like a teenage girl, and hugged me.

I sighed. Cue another wave of lurid public imaginings. I focused, with effort, on Pam.

"Finally! You are mates now!" Her fangs were fully out now. "Say it again."

"Pam!" I did my best imitation of Eric's growl, and she at least let me breathe in her crushing hug. I adjusted my dress uncomfortably. "We're, um, not seeing anybody else, and that's all I'll say."

"That's enough." She smiled fully, an unsettling image, given her fangs were smack in the middle of her otherwise sweet-as-sugar grin. "Now you must tell him you love him regularly and he will be a happy vampire. Has he told you yet, or does he still have his head up his ass?"

"I don't think he'd appreciate this conversation, Pam."

"Head up his ass, then. As I thought." She nodded. "You are both such fools. Why do you wait? I would like to have a shower for you." She frowned. "Is that allowable? For being a boyfriend and a girlfriend?"

I shook my head and hand to stop the flow of her words. Before you knew it, she'd be planning a wedding and then talking about me pushing a stroller with a fanged blond baby in it. Don't say it is impossible. One look at Pam's face will tell you not to bet against her wishes.

"All right, enough with the distraction! Back to why we're here, please." I cast around for something to turn her off this particular thread of conversation. "And by the way, don't think I'm fooled about the making out. Lots of lesbians go out without making out in public like zoo animals." I knew this to be true, despite the near-constant fantasies of the male customers of Merlotte's. When you can hear everybody's thoughts, you pretty much know everything they do in their spare time, whether they want it public or not.

"They don't have to explain why you aren't with my master," Pam somehow managed to shoot back, barely moving her lips. Her cheek curved. "I rather enjoyed it, myself."

"Oh, I am sure you did, buddy. _Someone_ is not going to be happy--"

"_Someone_ will be pissed he missed it. If you want to give him a present sometime, we can re-enact it."

"No, thanks, he can do without."

"Ahh, pity." She smiled, though, so I knew she wasn't offended.

"So did you know that vamp before?"

She shook her head minutely. "Not yet. Our ranks are not large, though. I am sure he is in a database somewhere." She slid her eyes over to me.

"Oh, nice, Pam, nice."

"I do try."

Before we could continue, something to the far right drew my eye. There was a man, now turning to go to an employee hallway—I could barely see him, but I was sure.

"Jerry!"

Pam's head whipped around like a hunting dog on the chase. Or maybe a Rottweiler trained all his life to rip out throats, seeing a future victim. Her eyes were positively red. "How delicious. Show me the way, dear Sookie."

We wove our way through the dancers and to the back—me ducking platters being carried out, Pam barking at the staff and telling them what to do with themselves. Either way, we didn't end up getting thrown out, and we did manage to penetrate into the back area of the Red Room.

Pam's sudden slashing motion made me pause. We were now in little hallway which, to my eye, seemed to lead straight backwards—probably to the exit, I guessed. There were a few little doorways next to us—probably to supply areas and offices, I guessed. And there must've been a coat cubby around the bend, because I could hear voices but I didn't see anybody.

"Miss you tonight, sugar," the male voice was saying, almost whining. Pam shot me a pointed look.

"Not as much as I missed you, baby," cooed a female voice. I tensed. I'd heard that voice before. When? Next to me, Pam tensed.

"Didn't think you'd stop by," the man was saying.

"I had to, it's your first night. And you know me, I wasn't doing anything, anyway," the woman simpered.

"Not till later," the man murmured, and the woman giggled again.

I don't know if they moved or not, but Pam grabbed me by the arm and hauled me through the nearest door. Yes, my human ears picked it up: footsteps—more than a single person, at least. I barely dared to breathe, in case either of those two heard me. Five—ten—fifteen seconds—and--

"Now!" Pam whispered, and we both dove into the hallway, as quietly as possible, given the fact we were both in heels. We hustled down the hallway, still searching for the couple, and then Pam suddenly seized my wrist. Ahead of us, the couple was exchanging one last kiss before the man returned to the open space of the Red Room.

_Oh, hell! _The man was Jerry, no doubt about that. But that's not what made me want to curse.

The woman was Evie.

"You had best get your weapon ready, Sookie," Pam muttered beside me. "You have another girlfriend to kill."


	54. Chapter 54

"Now!" Pam whispered, and we both dove into the hallway, as quietly as possible, given the fact we were both in heels. We hustled down the hallway, still searching for the couple, and then Pam suddenly seized my wrist. Ahead of us, the couple was exchanging one last kiss before the man returned to the open space of the Red Room.

_Oh, hell! _The man was Jerry, no doubt about that. But that's not what made me want to curse.

The woman was Evie.

"You had best get your weapon ready, Sookie," Pam muttered beside me. "You have another girlfriend to kill."

I reached out to fix on Pam's wrist, just in case she meant to finish this once and for all. She didn't move; she kept staring on ahead, like me.

It was Evie, the trashy fire inspector I'd first met at Fangtasia. Back then, I thought she was just a wannabe Pamela Anderson, someone who had figured out that even the undead can lug about watermelon-sized pieces of silicone. I'd not had a lot of words with her—frankly, my only concern at the time I first saw her, when she was dancing with Eric, was her strenuous efforts to get pregnant via Eric's thigh.

The memory still made me wish I had nails like that Wolverine, though.

I shook my head. That kind of thinking wasn't going to solve what was going on here. Was Evie the mastermind behind all of this? What did she get out of this? To the best of my knowledge, she'd only shown up in Fangtasia _after_ the first arson attempt.

Was she working for Victor, or the king above him? I prayed not, at least not Felipe. I didn't want to have to think about a king having it out for Eric and the Fangtasia crew. We'd had bad enough problems with all of the lesser Supes getting in on the beat-up-Sookie action.

"I should've staked her when I saw her skunk roots," growled Pam.

"Shhh!" Granted, Evie's hearing would be better than mine, but we had to hope she was distracted enough to miss the commentary. And that Jerry would be likewise preoccupied.

Something buzzed softly from my purse. Pam and I glanced at each other. I didn't even have to look at my purse to guess what it was: He knew.

Pam was thinking the same thing. "_Fuck_," her mouth moved. I nodded.

Ahead of us, Evie and Jerry started to walk away. I went to follow them, but Pam jerked me back into one of the side rooms.

"Whaa—"

Pam made a slashing motion of her hand and slid the door shut with a too-quiet _click_. Her voice was cold when she spoke.

"The first rule of hunting is to know when to let your prey have some space." I must've look unimpressed, because she carried on. "If we had pursued them, I guarantee that bitch would have felt our presence and our advantage would be lost."

"I guess." I stared worriedly at the door. How long were we, now supposedly expert hunters, to wait? My only "hunting" training consisted of Christmas shopping, in which it was every woman for herself.

"Three minutes," Pam said. For a second, I wondered if she'd read my mind, but she didn't seem to even be speaking to me. Her eyes drifted down to my purse. "Perhaps we ought to see..?"

"Oh, shoot, yes." Not so eagerly, I pulled my cell out of my purse. "Where's yours, anyway?"

"Left it in the car. It's a wonderful excuse, I find." She winked. "Particularly when I knew he'd be calling for us sooner rather than later.

"Oh, thanks," I muttered. "So I'm the one he goes after first?"

"Yes," she said serenely.

It was hard to argue with that. I flipped open the cell and caught the first text right away: "Where the FUCK are you?"

"Yes, I don't think he's a happy camper," I informed my accomplice.

"Shocking." She leaned over my shoulder just as I hit the button for the next text.

"If you are where I fucking think you are, I am going to fucking turn you over my knee."

"Ooooh." Pam clearly appreciated this on a very different level than I did. I turned red and slammed the phone shut angrily.

"If he thinks for one second, he's going to lay a hand on me without my permission—"

"Who said it'd be without your permission?" Pam winked. "You should thank me."

With some folks, that'd just be a dirty joke. With Pam, well, who knows. She does have wide-ranging tastes, as best as I gather. (And I certainly wasn't going to ask.)

"Well, you're in trouble, too," I said sourly.

Pam apparently wasn't listening to me—she'd grabbed my cell and was punching keys.

"What are you doing?"

"Telling him we are safe." She didn't look up from the phone. "If he is not told soon enough that the situation is under control, he will come."

I could've smacked myself. "But why not just call?"

She gave me a withering look. "Do you want to talk to him in _that_ mood? I did not think so." She tossed me the cell and I returned it to my pocket. "I told him we had gone to dance and you are well." It went without saying Pam was well. Short of staking a vampire, their health doesn't change significantly. "And before you ask, I did inform him I was using your phone."

"Because you left yours in the car, right?"

She ignored my shot, waving me back to the door. "Now let us hunt."

I can honestly say I haven't thought of "hunting" with Pam before—hunting anything other than a really fancy bag on clearance at the new TJ Maxx that just opened up, maybe. But it was an experience, certainly. Pam made me follow her and we both kept quiet, not wanting to draw attention. We slid out towards the main floor again, and Pam drew us back to the wall, so we could look for our targets.

I didn't see Jerry anywhere. I did see Evie out on the dance floor, apparently without a dedicated partner.

"He's working; he can't play with her," Pam sneered into my ear. I nodded.

"We don't need her just yet, anyway." I couldn't read her mind, and goodness knows, she wasn't just going to tell either of us what plots she'd hatched with Jerry. Jerry, human Jerry, was the key. I could at least pick his mind to get at whatever she'd told him.

"Hmm. A moment, Sookie. I do have an errand to run. My garden, after all, does not grow green." I didn't get what she meant right way and I guess that was the point. A leather blur passed me as Pam pushed away from the wall. Her voice floated back to me. "Payback is such a bitch, isn't it?" Still a blur, she entered the dance floor.

"Oh, hell," I whispered to myself.

Pam's not a bad dancer, by any means, but I knew she wasn't out there just to express her affection for that Beyonce song about single ladies.

Not that I knew all the words, that is.

I ran forward to see what was going to happen, but there was no way I could move fast enough to beat Pam. Ahead of me, I watched in horrified fascination as Pam started freely swinging her arms around to the music. If you knew the dance that went with the song, she seemed to be doing it. If you knew Pam, you knew she was also deliberately backing up to where Evie was, and every time she was swinging her arms "enthusiastically," she was putting a great deal of power into it—the kind of power to make diamonds from coal, not to put a ring on a hand.

In what seemed like two seconds and two hours alike, Pam's mission was complete. With Evie's back to her, Pam's hands effectively sledgehammered into Evie's head, knocking Felipe's fire inspector across the dance floor and to the ground.

Evie, of course, screamed in anger and started cussing. I couldn't hear what she was yelling over the din of the music, but it seemed the same kind of thing girls yelled in Merlotte's when they got shoved—a lot of "bitches" and "what the hell," that sort of thing.

Pam didn't even bother to look embarrassed. "Oh, dear," she seemed to say. Evie rose to her feet and stalked over to Pam, who didn't blink an eye. Without thinking, I grabbed a tray from a nearby waiter and started wading into the dance floor. It didn't take a genius to see where this was heading—especially now, as Pam and Evie were hissing and spitting words at each other. Or at least Evie was doing the spitting and hissing, and Pam was smiling pleasantly at her, with all of the courtesy of Hell itself.

I feared that eyebrow.

It was time to get involved before Pam decided to just rip a leg off of a chair and have at Evie. I pushed through some guys to get closer to Pam, to remind her we weren't here to eviscerate anybody on a suspicion of wrong-doing. (Not that we even knew why Evie would be in this mess, anyway.)

"Lady, get out of here!" some nice young guy told me. (I say nice, because the majority of the men around me, based on their thoughts, were all in favor of Evie and Pam having at it.)

I tried to catch Pam's attention but our eyes locked for only a split-second. She made a sharp waving gesture, which I took to mean "get out." It took me a few more seconds (and a few more furious glares from her) before I realized she wanted me off the dance floor and presumably, the debris that was about to fly.

I backed up, if only to give her some peace of mind, but I kept my hands on my tray. What can I say, I've been in too many situations where a bar tray has done me well.

I still hovered helplessly, though, as Evie, waving her hands around and scowling furiously, continued to circle a smiling Pam. What to do?

"Baby, stop that!" a man's voice bellowed not far from me.

I turned and had to snap away again. Oh, crap, Jerry! He'd come out of the employee hallway, apparently alerted his honey was about to get stung on the middle of the dance floor. I tried to side-step away, so he couldn't see my full face, and hopefully, he wouldn't notice me at all.

"Fuck that, only way to end things with these vamps," I heard Jerry mutter. I had no idea what he meant; he spun on his shoe and ran back down the hallway.

Keeping my hands on my tray, I hustled after him. He was pretty quick, so I lost him just as he rounded the first corner in the hallway. I dropped my pace—no need to lose one of my shoes (on sale, Kmart, and they were pretty darned cute, too!) if he'd just gotten away from me.

A noise farther down the hall startled me and I jumped into the nearest darkened sideroom. This was apparently partially employee territory and a cleaning supply zone, based on the tangy smell of detergent in the air.

A hand clapped over my mouth; I heard my tray clatter to the floor. A cold voice spoke just at my ear, causing me to cry out against the hand that held me.

"How nice to see you."


	55. Chapter 55

"Fuck that, only way to end things with these vamps," I heard Jerry mutter. I had no idea what he meant; he spun on his shoe and ran back down the hallway.

Keeping my hands on my tray, I hustled after him. He was pretty quick, so I lost him just as he rounded the first corner in the hallway. I dropped my pace—no need to lose one of my shoes (on sale, Kmart, and they were pretty darned cute, too!) if he'd just gotten away from me.

A noise farther down the hall startled me and I jumped into the nearest darkened sideroom. This was apparently partially employee territory and a cleaning supply zone, based on the tangy smell of detergent in the air.

A hand clapped over my mouth; I heard my tray clatter to the floor. A cold voice spoke just at my ear, causing me to cry out against the hand that held me.

"How nice to see you."

I bit down automatically and heard a familiar grunt. Before he could release me, though, I heard Eric swear softly, and then—I was flying? In a single breath, I'd been tossed into the nearby supply closet, and Eric was in there, too, with me.

"Shhh," he murmured quickly, and I knew not to say all of the things that were flying around in my mind.

Or elsewhere. I don't know what Eric was listening to, as I sure didn't hear anybody, but I did know our situation was definitely precarious. I'd ended up with my butt partly on some boxes, so I wasn't touching the floor. I could feel the air against my heel—somewhere down there, one of my shoes had been lost. Meanwhile, Eric had managed to jam himself, standing up, between my legs. There wasn't even room in there for him to put his hands down; he had them stretched above him somewhere I couldn't see in the dark. My own hands were resting on his sides—it's not like I had anywhere to put them, anyway.

I drew in a nervous breath as I pushed my ears to listen. Nothing.

Eric's face slid against mine in the darkness, his lips by my ear. "They are in the hall."

"Pam—" I muttered back, but he gave a tiny hiss, and I hushed.

I heard someone enter the room—a man, I guessed, from the way he stepped heavily. Someone else came in, too, whistling to himself. Nothing seemed to happen out of the ordinary—well, a gruff voice (Stomp, I guessed) said "Excuse me" to the Whistler, but nothing significant. A door opened and shut, somewhere far off. All of the noises, I knew, were typical of the back area of any bar.

How long would we have to wait here? I wondered how Pam was doing for a brief minute, and then disposed of that thought. Eric wouldn't be back here looking for me if he'd just walked by Pam in a fight she was losing. And how pissed off was he? His body language wasn't giving anything away; the muscles beneath my hands were tight, like a hound dog on point, but not rigid. Sorrowfully, because I knew there'd be hell to pay when we got out of this mess, I rubbed small circles into his lower back. And I listened again, for whatever he was hearing.

It wasn't hard. The voices were getting closer and I stiffened. "I said NO, Bratt. Do you want this to be your last night here?"

I caught my breath. I knew that voice. I wondered if Eric did, too, because his muscles clenched under my hands.

"But that blond is going to kill my—"

"No staking in my club. Besides, it could end up your woman getting staked. You want that?"

"No, but—"

"I know the other one is good for any damages. Just make sure none of the other guests get killed, and keep an eye out for her partner."

"Partner?"

"Blond, so-high, shape like…"

I heard Jerry whistle and Eric hiss. I rolled my eyes in the dark. It'd be nice to be thought of as the girl with great blue eyes sometime. Not the girl with boobs.

Footsteps echoed and I heard the beep of a phone. A few seconds, and then a soft voice—Jerry's, I figured. He was whispering frantically into the cell.

"Um, hey, sir, this Jerry Bratt." A beat. "Yes, sir, you remember, Evie's human." He said "human" as if he were cringing, and I cringed for him. His voice picked up speed. "I didn't want to bug you, but my girl got into a jam tonight and you said to call if any other vamps showed up…I think she's going to be okay, yeah, but don't know what's going on…Right, I'll call you, thanks, sorry for interrupting." The footsteps left rapidly, leaving us in silence again.

"What the--?"

"Shhh," Eric murmured against my ear. I guess there were still people mingling around and I just couldn't hear them.

Nothing. Nothing but the throb of that old Chris Isley song ringing down the hallways. I caught my breath sharply as Eric eased his stance, his jeans rubbing against my legs. Nothing but us, here, stuffed in this ridiculous closet that suddenly wasn't so ridiculous at all.

The fabric of his jeans smarted against my inner thighs as he slid slowly against me again. As he moved back, just a fraction of an inch, the material left a throb in its place.

Was he…_dancing_? Antsy? Or just plain torturing me? I don't know what he was doing, but he was making the slightest movements that put his body squarely against all of the most sensitive parts of mine. He slid sideways, my nipples rubbed hard against his chest. He shifted a thigh forward, and pushed firmly right at my center. Shoved against his chest in that tight-packed darkness, I whimpered, and wanted.

I swallowed roughly. Did he have to reach upwards? I don't know what he was doing, but I do know a very delicate part of my anatomy had just made friendly with the front of his jeans. With a delicate slowness, he rose, drawing the line of his fly—and everything beneath it—very deliberately against the scrap of my underwear. I bit my lip to avoid crying out as he shifted again, his hips suddenly bucking against me. My hands had fallen back to his back pockets, I realized, and were holding on for all they were worth.

He growled softly into my inner ear. "Undo my pants."

"Whaaa?" My words came out half-sigh, half-moan, but at least I still had a functioning brain. "I'm not—"

"Do it!" he hissed sharply.

When Eric says things in _that _tone, you tend to do it. (And get a little thrill from it, I'll admit, but I'd never tell him that.) I hastily unbuckled his awful big belt (why did he wear such giant buckles, I'll never know).

"Zipper! Quickly!" he whispered, his cool voice hot against my ear.

Well, then. If that wasn't permission for Christmas morning, what is? Carefully as I could, given it was dark, I eased down his fly. Naturally, he was going without, as his body made very clear to me, the obstruction between us growing further as he gave his lower body a rapid rub right across my lower region. I wasn't sure what he was about—I mean, we've been in worse situations, and it had hardly _killed _him to keep it in his pants—but then again, who really gave a damn—I threw back my head and let myself enjoy the scrape of his chest against mine—

A bright light flooded my eyes. The next few seconds went down as some of the slowest of my life.

First, I heard myself shrieking, just by reflex.

Second, I felt my lands latching on to Eric's, well, Eric. I meant to cover him; his body, however, reacted as if it were an invitation, resisting my efforts to hide his bits and pieces.

Third, next to me, "Oh! Oh, fuck, sorry!" a man was saying. A familiar voice. I moaned with embarrassment and I buried my face against Eric's shoulder. I felt his shoulder muscles lift as he snarled, "Get the fuck out, Hevereaux!" and with a rough movement, wiggled an arm down to grab the handle and yank the door shut on us again.

"Oh! Oh!" I was so flustered I kept patting him Down There, as if making apologies to the exposed area. I wanted to pat my pride, especially now that Alcide no doubt thought of me as the whore of the universe.

"Shh." Eric's voice was now particularly strained, but no less soft. "He will be listening."

"But he thinks we're--!"

"Exactly. Better than what else we were doing."

"That is sick!"

"I would." I felt Eric's cheek lift against mine. I could almost see that face, that smile—almost nostalgic—

"Eric!" I whispered hotly, but not in the way he'd have liked. "Did you listen to me—with Bill, I mean?"

You'd think that would put a damper on Things, but, oh, no. Eric's body was apparently dead-set on playtime.

"Of course," he shot back.

"You did not!"

"Just the start." He had turned his head, because I felt his tongue now against my ear. I shivered and I must've clenched my hand a little, because he let out a less-than-happy growl. I eased my grip

"Your passion was wasted on him," he was muttering.

I gave out my own growl, but of disgust.

"Sookie, we have no time. He is listening," Eric's lips were practically glued to my ear now. "We must convince him we are harmless."

"I'm not—Gran would _kill_ me—"

"Then pretend," he growled. He suddenly let out a very loud moan that went straight from my ears to my most private area. I whimpered.

With his free hand, he shoved at something—a box, I guess, that made a loud thumping noise, and groaned again, that same deliciously obscene moan. His hips thrust against mine, reminding me of my purpose in this little play.

"Oh, baby," I tried out. I sounded like an idiot. I could feel Eric shake with suppressed mirth against me. "Oh, yes, like that, baby."

"Yessss…" Now his voice was pitched a little _too_ low, like he didn't even know what he sounded like when we—well. You know. Now he sounded like Barry White, and I was having a very hard time holding it together.

"Oh, oh, yes," I chirped lamely, and smacked a few boxes around to make good "significant motion within" noises.

"Do better," he hissed in my ear. He nipped at my ear lobe—the better to inspire me, I suppose.

All right, maybe he had tons of experience at faking sex, but I didn't. Annoyed, I threw myself into it. It was a little fun, after all.

"Oh, oh, YES."

"Do _better_, I said," he grunted irritably.

Okay, all bets were off now. "Baby, oh my God, YES! There!" With each emphasis, I screamed whole-heartedly. I felt Eric tense under me. Good. He wanted an uninhibited display? You bet your ass he was going to get one.

"Oh, yes, BABY! Oh, now, now, NOW!" I inserted a loud groan and suddenly, evilly, grinned.

"Oh!" I said, with not quite the same joy.

Eric groaned, apparently figuring I was providing vocalizations enough for both of us.

"Oh, DEAR. Oh, oh, well. I am so—oh, honey, don't—it happens to all men—" I was starting to giggle so hard that I had to bite his shirt to stop from laughing.

"Enough," he snapped, and shoved his hands between us—the better to put Mr. Viking away, I gathered. I was too busy snickering into his shirt, I'll admit.

He wasn't in a mood to play anymore, so at least that wasn't an issue. He slammed open the door, jerking up his fly as a waitress gave a stunned "Oh, my!" and fled. He paid her no mind.

It took me another minute of groping around for my lost shoe before I could hop after him. "Wait!"

He slowed his stride just enough so I could catch up to him and follow him into the hallway. He didn't say anything; his face was a stormcloud waiting to break.

I tried to grab his wrist. "Look, honey, I am—"

"Not that." His words were clipped. "We must find Pam."

"Hevereaux!" He roared and I noticed Alcide adjusting his jacket's buttons ahead of us. Alcide glanced guiltily over to us, but he didn't meet my eye, I noticed.

Great. He really did think I was one of those MTV hussies Jason so admired. I sighed.

"Where is my child?" Eric barked.

"Just leaving the main room, last I saw." Alcide's guilty posture had vanished. He bristled as he studied Eric.

"Pam!" Eric bellowed and Alcide bristled further. I guess he wasn't too fond of people acting like they owned his place.

"I am here, Master." Pam slid nonchalantly next to Alcide. She gave him an amused look, noticing his tomato-colored complexion, and then surveyed my clearly rumpled state. "Why, Sookie. You could not wait for me? Really, you are insatiable." She licked one of her fangs.

Alcide made a choked noise. "If you will excuse me—" He turned heel and fairly ran into the next room.

Pam giggled, but Eric apparently wasn't in the mood for her humor. "To the car." Pam vanished and Eric rounded on me in another split-second. "We must go." He pulled me firmly against him and suddenly I was in the air, held in his arms, as we hustled to the parking lot.

I barely had time to get my seat belt on as Eric fired up the Batmobile and we were pulling out of the Red Room parking lot. His voice was quiet as he spoke—more to Pam than to me.

"The human was on the phone. I heard the other party. He was speaking with Victor."

Behind me, Pam spoke with menacing cheer. "Now do we get to kill that fuck? Excellent."


	56. Chapter 56

I barely had time to get my seat belt on as Eric fired up the Batmobile and we were pulling out of the Red Room parking lot. His voice was quiet as he spoke—more to Pam than to me.

"The human was on the phone. I heard the other party. He was speaking with Victor."

Behind me, Pam spoke with menacing cheer. "Now do we get to kill that fuck? Excellent."

"Oh, great," I muttered, but the two vamps in the car didn't pay attention to me—they were clearly in "fight mode," tossing suggestions back and forth over what was to be done. (Mostly, I understood, it involved calling in favors to get some investigating done, but why or on whom, I didn't know.) Naturally, they didn't explain anything at all. I felt a little like when I was a kid and Gran and her ladies from the historical club gossiped in my presence; you had to sit very quietly and hope you could figure it all out, as they surely weren't going to stop and explain that the baker had been caught buttering some buns that weren't in the oven.

"So, mind telling a mortal what is going on?" I finally put in.

"Would you listen if we did?" Eric's voice was chilly enough to raise the hairs on my neck.

I sighed. Yup, still in trouble. I felt a bump at my back—Pam, I guessed. Tiredly, I opened my big mouth again. "Do we have to go into this now? And please don't bring Pam into this—I chose to go and she was protecting me." Okay, she might've been doing something else by smacking Evie upside her head, but I couldn't say I disagreed with that, either.

The car's tires screamed as Eric ripped us over to the side of the road. He rounded on me, face whiter than the moon, eyes glittering blue. "Oh, yes, we _must_, my dear one." He fairly spat the words.

I turned red, both from anger and from the fact we were carrying on in front of Pam. Sure, she was watching us as avidly as somebody following players at a tennis tournament, but I wasn't brought up to carry on in front of an audience. "I am not doing this now! Yell at me later, if you have to, but I am not going to be rude—"

"Pam, leave," Eric snarled, his eyes not wavering from mine. I saw a divot appear in the steering wheel from his fingers pressing downward.

"No!" I threw my hand on the door. Because Pam was lodged into the backseat, she couldn't get out without me moving, anyway. "You're not just dumping her on the side of the road because you want to fight with me!" Granted, I'd feel almost sorry for any cretin who tried anything with Pam on a dark and lonely road, but that was beside the point.

Eric's nose was millimeters from my own. Although his face was a mask, his eyes were blazing, and his voice was a low, very deliberate hiss. "You will not tell me what to do, woman."

"Right, it's just your job to tell me what to do, you big ass—"

His nostrils flared in outrage. "_Ass_? Woman—"

A cool voice echoed from the back of the car suddenly. "I have touched your Sookie's breasts, Master."

Eric did a double-take to the back of the car; I'm pretty sure I did, too. "What the fuck are you talking about?" His anger wasn't directed at me, though, and it was more like annoyance, not break-the-steering-wheel rage.

Pam appeared to be checking her make-up in a make-up compact. "I touched your Sookie's breasts and enjoyed it. They are quite lovely and very soft. I now see why you are so enamored of them. I would have liked to see more of them." If I weren't so mad still, I might've giggled at Eric's slackening jaw. You could've dropped a flower pot on his head and he'd have looked no less dumbfounded. "I also kissed her and attempted to use my tongue. Oh, and I told the wolf we had been intimate regularly. And now I wish we were. You were quite enjoyable, dear Sookie."

I didn't say anything because there didn't seem to be anything to say. Eric seemed to be having a hard time concentrating. He just stared at Pam, who finally glanced up from her compact and arched a silent eyebrow at Eric. I was sure they were doing some top-secret vamp communication, or maybe they were engaging in a stare-down. Either way, Eric seemed to lose—he grunted, muttered something that sounded like, "Details later," and turned back to the wheel. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Pam wink at me.

In a second, we were back on the road. It didn't take long for us to fly past Fangtasia; Eric dropped Pam off there, saying only we were heading home. It was getting late for me, anyway, and I rubbed my forehead again, knowing we were going to have "issues" to deal with when we got home. That impression was reinforced when we drove home in silence. Forget the no-call list; I was on the no-talk list, apparently. I sighed.

Even when we got to the house, I was barely _persona grata_ (a special phrase on my Word of the Day.) Eric strode ahead of me into the house, already reaching into his jeans for his cell phone. "I must make calls." If I thought I was being let off the hook, he spun to regard me through the curtain of his hair. "We will have a _discussion_ momentarily, my lover." The way he emphasized "discussion" let me know good and well he hadn't forgotten my numerous errors this evening.

I exhaled wearily, pulled off my heels, and trotted off to tend to human needs—good a time as any. The one thing you learn when you hang out with vamps is to always be sure to hit the restrooms well ahead of time. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and headed down the hall to the bedroom to figure out what to wear, automatically seeking comfort clothing.

Comfort and something else. I chewed my lip. Granted, I didn't want to come crawling on my knees begging forgiveness, but I did want him to get off his high horse and work with me a little. Did I have anything that would soften him up towards me? I frowned into the drawer. I had a feeling Eric would see through me (literally) if I showed up in any of the sheer nighties Pam had selected.

I needed something that would bring down the big back he'd already gotten up. Softening anything about that Viking was a challenge, I sighed to myself, and slid the drawer shut. Nothing but lingerie there.

Desperation made me turn to Eric's closet, sliding open the doors. Then inspiration grabbed me. I rooted through his closet for what I wanted—oh, yes, there it was, still in the cleaner's bag after I'd had it cleaned. It was the soft blue button-down shirt he'd lent me after the maenad attacked me. I stripped off my dress and bra, slipped the shirt on, and buttoned it up. It was long enough to go down my thighs, and with the buttons all up, he couldn't accuse me of trying to seduce him out of his anger with me.

I headed downstairs in my bare feet, listening. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but he was definitely still on the phone. I knew Eric could hear me approach, but I cleared my throat a little anyway, just to be polite.

He apparently finished his conversation just as I came in to the kitchen, where he was sitting at the table nursing a True Blood. (That was another, painful sign I was in the doghouse—Eric didn't need a lot of blood, and if he wanted some, he could ask me for it. That he was drinking what he considered crap rather than asking me indicated just how mad he was with me. I blinked rapidly, willing myself not to cry over a damn bottle.)

"Hi." I hovered in the doorway, watching him.

"Hello." His eyes slid up and over at me, but his voice was flat, revealing nothing. I saw his irises move up and down, taking me in, but if he knew my outfit, he said nothing about it.

"I thought I'd get more comfortable…hope you don't mind." _Quit babbling, Stackhouse! _I felt myself flush.

"Not at all." His voice, smooth as polished wood, was about as expressive.

Oh, hell. How long was he going to keep this up? I fidgeted for a moment and then decided to take the bull by its horns. Or in this case, the Viking. I walked over to him and hesitantly moved to straddle his lap. His shoulders were stiff under my palms but he didn't fight me; his hands seemed to come up of their own accord to help me settle across him. I risked glancing up into his face. One of his eyebrows was up, questioning, but his eyes were sparkling again. I slid my hands up from his palms and around to the back of his neck, and the skin by the side of his mouth started to curve. _Not forgiven yet, but at least I'm getting a shot._

"Please don't be angry." Wrong words; now he was starting to stiffen against me, and not in a good way. I leaned forward to hug him, hoping either the gesture or the revelation that I was braless would count in my favor. Lighting-fast, his hands were on my back now, stroking me. I whispered by his ear. "I'm sorry I—" What on earth could I say? "I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry about everything. But I couldn't—" Damn it, his muscles were still like marble under me. I hugged him harder, willing him to listen to me. "I've lost a lot of people and I won't lose you." I ducked my head into his shoulder so he wouldn't see the few tears that had started to slide down my cheeks.

His hand rubbed my back slowly. His voice was very low. "You are mine. Do not fear." I started to object and he pulled me back to face him. "No one will do you harm. Nor me," he added, more quietly. His eyes were blue lasers, boring into mine. "What I have, I keep." I wasn't quite sure what that meant, but my brain had stopped functioning, thanks to the way he was looking at me. His thumb slid across my lip and his eyes followed it. Now his eyes, sapphire slits, were focused on me again. "You must not risk yourself." His face hardened. "For anything."

I rubbed his chest with my hands. "For you."

His eyebrows lowered. "No."

I tried to kiss him and he accepted my lips gracefully for a long few minutes. This time, I pulled back.

"I want to make a deal."

"Tell me." There was nothing coaxing about the way he said that; it was the bark of a man who was used to commanding, and not very much liking the idea of negotiating.

"I want you to listen to me more."

He tilted his head quizzically. "I do not listen to you?"

"You hear me out and then dismiss me." I put my finger over his lips, to stop him from protesting. "Just try, okay? Listen: You promise to work with me on some things about this investigation, so it's not just the Eric Show, and I'll try not to go and get into any situation you'd consider dangerous." For a moment, I regretted saying that. What if he thought a little shopping was "dangerous"? Would I have to go to Wal-mart with Bubba in tow? (I suddenly realized that surely explained a lot of those old _National Enquirer _stories.) Then I remembered Eric worked with Pam, and what she'd do to anybody who blocked a woman from shopping. "Here's the deal: if I'm not supposed to risk myself, you're not supposed to blow off any trouble coming at you, either. Partners, got that?"

He was watching me with a slightly amused smirk now. "I prefer other words."

I started to huff, but I was got off-guard by his abrupt motion. Eric rose fluidly to his feet, his hands holding me under the butt as you might hold a toddler clutching you. He sure wasn't acting like a baby, though, as he deposited me on the long island in the center of the room.

"Partners." He peeled off his shirt and threw it to the side. He tilted to his head to look at me speculatively, then his hands flew—

"Hey!" I felt a rush of cold air and saw my underwear (an "oh, I'm not a tramp, I just happen to wear pink lace all the time" set) dangling from Eric's fingers. His fangs were fully out now, I noticed. "No fair!"

He didn't even bother to look ashamed. "Very pretty," he commented, flicking a glance from the scrap of lace to me.

"Me or the panties?" I shot back. I meant it to be coy, but he just licked his fingers at me in a way that was absolutely _not_ coy.

"Your little attire. You, you are more than pretty." He pushed me on my back on the island, and gave a firm, sharp tug on the front of the button-down shirt—buttons went flying, but it didn't matter, as I realized I was sprawled out pretty much naked in front of him. His gaze was locked on me now, and not my face. "You are _delicious_, my lover," he said in tones that made me shiver all the way up from my toes. As if to prove it, he brought his head down sharply and then slowly slid his tongue all the way down the inside of my thigh. My toes curled reflexively against the bare muscles of his back.

"Oh, sweet Lord have mercy," I heard myself murmur. I uttered something incoherent when he laughed right next to my most sensitive parts, causing me to squirm helplessly against his jaw. And then I cursed as he suddenly stood up and away, arms folded.

"Do you think to negotiate with me, lover?"

I sat up and blinked, my brain still a fog of hormones. "I can definitely say I'm not thinking of negotiating right about now."

He gave me a wicked smile, and his hands snapped undone his belt with tight, sharp motions. He dropped it onto the counter space without looking. "Did you think to disobey me, lover?" I couldn't answer, because he'd already undone his jeans and was stepping out of them. And there he was, naked, staring at me, and very, very ready.

"Honestly, did you think you could run from me?" In a blur, he was there again, standing at the edge of the island and sliding me down to him. I fell on my back as he parted my legs, his body bending over me, brushing against me. "That I would let you, love?" And suddenly he was home, and we were surging together. From a distance, I heard myself crying his name; in my ear, I heard him grind out my name, and tell me that I was his. My palms stretched to his shoulders, pulling him to me, just as my back arched to bring his wet mouth to my begging, burning breasts.

And then his cell phone, still perched on the counter across from us, went off.

"_YOU'RE SO VAIN, YOU PROBABLY THINK THIS SONG IS ABOUT YOU…"_

He paused mid-thrust to catch my eye. I smiled brilliantly, which of course is a neon sign that I'm guilty as hell.

"Wow, you got a new ringtone, wonder how..."

He gave me a downright fiendish look in response, then actually angled his head to see who was calling, as if to just to torture me. I wiggled against him, hoping to re-start the friction he'd created.

But no. "Fuck!" he exclaimed. It wasn't in a good way, either—like one of those times in the dark when he would string together obscenities in a low, hot voice, and for some reason every cell in my depraved body couldn't get enough of it. No, this was just a plain-ol' f-bomb of anger.

"Eric?" I tried to grab his hands, which were on my hips; he was sliding out of me.

"It's Pam," he said simply, and I sighed, flopping back on the cold surface. Under normal circumstances, this would be a moment where I might use some of poor Lafayette's phrasings, but I knew well enough Eric was only stopping us for the highest level of crisis. The whole thing made me resolve yet again to get to the bottom of this. Attack me? Okay, I can deal with that. But this? Oh, no.

I tuned back into the naked Viking near me. "I am here," he was saying into the phone. Because vampires don't need to breathe heavily, even during sex, his voice barely betrayed that we'd been interrupted. I could spot, however, something was off in the sharpness of his tone, and I bet Pam could, too.

"Yes, she is delighted you are calling," he drawled, his eyebrows both lifting when he saw I was still sprawled out there. He smiled and licked his lips. You could take the vamp out of the bar, but not the perv out of the vamp. I rolled my eyes at him and he sidled closer. Of course, I wasn't the only eye candy available; I sure had a gracious plenty of my own on display. I took advantage of the moment to ogle him shamelessly; he caught me and turned slightly so I could see both back and front together. And what a lot there was to ogle, too—I turned my head so I could see the tight curve of his—

"Oh!" I yelped as a finger touched me intimately, then bit my lip. Eric had apparently decided not to leave me cold, so to speak, but to keep the engine idling. In this case, with some very not-idle fingers. I felt myself going cross-eyed as another one danced around my core.

"Yes, that is Sookie, she bumped into some furniture. Mmm-hmm, very clumsy, I know."

I saw him peek at me from the corner of his eyes, just as his finger dipped in. I arched my back and fought down a whine as it circled and then rubbed, absolutely certain of my response. God, that man seem to have parts of my anatomy memorized like Stevie Wonder knew the piano keys. I had a vision of Eric playing piano with—well, not his fingers—and then an almost painful surge of pleasure left me thoughtless and fighting only not to scream.

"I will send her your sympathies," he was saying. I didn't know whether to curse or beg as his fingers—those long, thick, and oh, sweet Jesus, shepherd of Judaea--_long_ fingers--retreated. Automatically, my hands grabbed his hand and kept it locked in place, writhing against him.

His voice definitely dropped a register. "You will have to tell me this later—yes, I do agree, they are spectacular." For once, I knew exactly what he was talking about, since his eyes, which had been fixed on the area to which his fingers were attending, now moved northward. He licked his fang.

I knew instantly when she'd started to talk business with him; he closed his eyes, turned slightly away, and the motion of his fingers became random. Closing my own eyes, I stroked the big hand, trying to keep my breathing quiet, trying to keep my lower body (now spasming helplessly) patient, waiting for him and wondering what Pam was saying.

"Very well. Keep me informed," he was saying, then clicked the phone shut. I heard it fall onto the counter again and suddenly there was cool air where a cool hand had been. My eyes popped open to meet his gaze as he bent over me.

"Whatever happens," he said to me, eyes boring into me, "you are mine, and you will be mine." I gulped a breath as he shifted his hips and slid, hot and hard, into me. "Look at us, Sookie," he ordered, and lifted my hips so I could see how we came together. The pressure that had been in me all night suddenly began to bubble, to boil over; I heard myself cry out for him, and felt tears slide away into my hairline. Suddenly he was moving me again, so he could lean over me, my legs wrapping around his back. The fluorescent lights above us were blotted out; all I could see was the dark sparkle of his eyes. "Mine," he said, just as his hand moved between us.

"Mine," I whispered back, feeling the bliss build through me, around us. He was moving faster now, arching his back so that each sharp swing brought him deeper into me. The feelings were bursting over now. "Do it," I cried, and then he bit.

_AN: Thanks as always for your thoughts! _


	57. Chapter 57

"Whatever happens," he said to me, eyes boring into me, "you are mine, and you will be mine." I gulped a breath as he shifted his hips and slid into me. "Look at us, Sookie," he ordered, and lifted my hips so I could how we came together. The pressure that had been in me all night suddenly began to bubble, to boil over; I heard myself cry out for him, and felt tears slide away into my hairline. Suddenly he was moving me again, so he could lean over me, my legs wrapping around his back. The fluorescent lights above us were blotted out; all I could see was the dark sparkle of his eyes. "Mine," he said, just as his hand moved between us.

"Mine," I whispered back, and then he bit.

We ended up in a pile of sweaty limbs and blond hair; I wasn't sure where he finished and I began. "Oh," I finally exhaled, and he lifted his head to watch my face.

"Indeed," he said simply, in his low voice. His eyebrow arched and his mouth twisted. "No complaints this time, hmm?"

_Hell, no_, I wanted to say, but what can I say? My Gran never taught me to look a gift horse in the mouth. And Eric's one heck of a gift…stud.

"Oh, I don't know." I pretended to look as if I were deep in contemplation. "You know, for ordinary men, once is enough…"

His fangs were running down again and he was giving me That Look, which alternately suggested I was in for a heck of a lot of trouble, and a heck of a lot of fun. His voice and the slow rock of his hips were the stuff of unspeakable promises. "I can do well more than once, lover." And then he started to move.

I guess I'd put a bur under his saddle with the comment in the closet at the Red Room, because he was definitely trying to prove something. Or, as it occurred to me later, just finding out if there was a position we _hadn't _tried yet; in the glint of the dark kitchen window across from us, I saw him behind me as I knelt on the island. It occurred to me, somewhere between the throb of hormones, that I sure would hate to know if Eric ever had security cameras inside his house, because we sure would've made a tape this night. I tried, in my few lucid moments, to remember what counters were used, for future cleaning, but Eric was doing his best to make sure I just wrote the whole kitchen off as a lost cause.

"Oh, wow," I panted into his neck, as I half-sat, perched on a counter top with my legs around his back, little aftershocks from our latest encounter running through me.

"Agreed," he sighed into my hair, then he straightened his back. He must've caught my wince as he shifted, because he froze, frowning. "I have injured you."

I smiled and squeezed his butt, to reassure him. And, hell, just to take advantage, I'll admit. "I'm pretty sure they don't consider this kind of hurting bad." I gave his chin a kiss. "I'll take it any day over a hospital run, in fact." He was still looking at me speculatively, so I batted my eyelashes at him. "I like your kind of nursing, I guess you could say."

That brought him back to form. He waggled his eyebrows at me. "I am happy to look after your body. In fact—" –he paused to carefully disengage from me and then he swept me into his arms, both of us still naked as newborns. "I have an idea."

He grabbed his phone and carried me out into his backyard—I protested, since I'm not one for exhibitionism, but as Eric pointed out, he had an extremely tall privacy fence. (He also refuted my protest that the mosquitoes would get me—they wouldn't bite me out of "professional courtesy," he told me with a smirk.)

I couldn't speak for the mosquitoes yet, but the privacy fence _was_ abnormally tall. It made me wonder if he didn't walk around out here in the buff as a matter of regularity, but then I thought if he did, we'd surely have a lot of neighborhood women "accidentally" losing baseballs on this side of the fence and peeking over to see some _other _balls.

I took a quick survey of our surroundings. A few patio chairs, a shining new grill ("Pam," Eric said simply), little lawn lights with those cute pagoda-like housings, and a small pool. I could tell right away where my Viking was headed.

"Oh, no, you don't! You are not going to dump me—"

"You have no faith in me. I am wounded." He wiggled his eyebrows at me again, just to let me know how "wounded" he was. "Now try this and see." I heard his phone strike earth as he set it down; then he stepped into the dark water, still carrying me, and I realized what his game was.

The water was warm! It wasn't steamy or bubbling over, like Bill's hot tub; it was just a standard pool running warm water. But it felt really, really good, I had to admit.

"You built this?" I asked. Some vamps, like Bill, paid an awful lot of time to renovating their places. I ought to know. I used to think of Bill's house as his other girlfriend, well before his bitch maker entered the scene.

"No, it was here and I could not get rid of it. Pam," he added, as if that explained everything. "Now stay there," my host told me, depositing me on the steps. He strode across the pool (such was its size that he really couldn't "swim" in it) and I heard some music, barely more than a harp and soft voices, begin playing.

He turned away from his music device, splashing water on his face, and I had to admire the way the water ran down his arms and chest in rivulets. Smiling, he waded back to me.

"Oh, this is lovely," I breathed, winding my arms around his neck.

"Lovely." He wasn't looking at the pool. Just when I thought he was going to kiss me again, he tugged me suddenly forward into his arms, spun us about, and pulled me, giggling, across him as he slid into a floating lounge chair. Together, our weight pretty much submerged it, but with Eric's orders for me not to move, our shoulders and heads were above the still, warm water. I closed my eyes and leaned against the wet flesh of his chest, listening for the few sounds I could hear: the tiny slap of the water as it struck us; the soft chorus of the choral music he had playing; the ribbitt of a far-away bull frog; the rustle of the occasional lighting bug in the plants.

"Asleep, love?" he murmured, beneath me. His hands, at first at my belly, had slid up and pulled my arms off my breasts, which I'd been covering automatically. (I was never one for skinny-dipping or streaking, particularly since I could hear the thoughts of every boy around me and knew perfectly well they weren't "spontaneously" suggesting a skinny-dip.) They weren't uncovered for long; Eric's hands slid over them now, long fingers cupping them, tracing beads of water over them, circling the nipples and sliding them between his fingers.

"No, just in heaven," I muttered, and felt him laugh against my back.

"Shhh, what if your neighbors hear you!" I scolded. Part of me wanted Foxy to know just how things stood between us, but another part of me also didn't want anybody else intruding on this little bubble of bliss he'd created for us.

His voice was soft and teasing by my ear. "What do I care for them?"

"Good answer," I pretended to grumble and he chuckled again. I stared up at the summer stars, feeling those happy bubbles tumbling in my belly, washed over in the contentment and security that always came with Eric.

"Eric," I said, trying to take his hand; he moved my fingers with his own over my nipples. "What's going to happen?"

"Sex, whenever you are ready," he said promptly, and I groaned.

"I meant about Victor!"

He sighed and let my fingers slide away from my skin; his arms wrapped around my waist. "I could not say, lover."

"But why does he want to hurt you?"

His voice was chillier than the night air. "I do not know yet. I have some resources looking into this." I felt his chin brush against my hair, and then the puff of air as he spoke. "Victor is a loose canon. All of this could be for many reasons."

"What about Fel—I mean, the king?" I shuddered convulsively, remembering the last time I'd had a run-in with a vampire monarch and her minions.

His arms tightened across my stomach. "I do not think this goes up to Felipe. It has been too…" He seemed to fumble for words. "Amateur," he finally said, and it abruptly occurred to me why: he'd wanted to say _human_, but didn't want to offend my species loyalty.

"A vampire would not handle these things this way, and absolutely not would a king do this," Eric was saying, almost as if thinking aloud. "Yes, Victor may be in this, but Felipe is not."

"So can we just call Felipe and tell him what we know?" That sounded like such a great idea I almost went for the phone myself, even though I was safely (and nakedly) ensconced in Eric's arms. It'd make my life a whole less complicated if the king would just recall creepy Victor and nasty Evie, and I would have nothing more to worry about than Eric's desire to prove his virility. And by worry, I mean thank the Good Lord frequently.

His fingers were twirling my hair. "I am afraid not, lover. Felipe would not take kindly to suggestions without evidence. Especially against his second-in-command."

"But he promised me—" I was whining and knew it, but I was tired, okay?

"He will never put a human above a vampire, Sookie. Especially not above his own…retinue." Eric's voice was tight and I turned over my shoulder to study his suddenly closed face.

"I now know your 'Gone with the Wind,' " he said abruptly.

Well, hello, topic change. I decided to play along. "And did you like it?"

He leaned back against the edge. "She was a businesswoman. And beautiful. He was right to take her for his woman."

"And that's all you have to say?" Something shifted in his face, something miniscule, and my mouth dropped open. "You didn't watch it, did you!"

"And when did I say I did?" he retorted.

"Then how—you got Pam to watch it, didn't you!"

Now he was grinning full-out. "She wished to view it. She enjoyed the outfits."

"Oh, I bet she just _wanted _to watch it. 'Fess up, buster—you told her to watch it! You probably made her do your homework when you were in that community college class—Eric! You didn't!" He was laughing so hard the water was slapping the pool edges violently.

"Well, if you're just going to be a big cheat, I guess I'll just leave, then." I slid off him and pretended to flounce off—as much as one can when you're naked and in a small pool.

He let me get to the pool's steps, almost entirely out of the water, before he was on me. "I did learn see one thing," he murmured in my ear, in those tones that instantly made my abdominal muscles seize up.

"What was it?" My breath was already coming in little puffs.

"He was a fool to let his woman go." His hand was on my thigh, lifting my leg to brace a foot on the higher step. Eric had positioned himself behind me, his arm wrapped around my hips to brace me as he entered. I braced myself inside, too, but there was something slow and gentle this time, in the way we were loving. Every time our hips rocked, laps of water would brush against my lower body. I clutched his other arm; his hand slid below to cup me. I bit my lip hard to avoid making loud noises, even as Eric's stifled groans, right at my ear, pushed me further.

"Lover, my lover," he murmured, as I threw my head back against his shoulder, feeling him explore me below. I caught the gleam of his eyes in the moonlight as I shuddered against his hand, as that bubbling feeling exploded within me, watching his face. "Love."

We both stilled. The only sound was the movement of the water against my hips.

"Take me to bed," I whispered. "I don't want this to end."

"Done," he murmured in his deepest voice, and I was in his arms.

I woke up naked and feeling as if every muscle of my body had been massaged all night long. Which, come to think of it, was true.

My masseuse was curled next to me, his hand on my butt beneath the sheets, something else prodding my lower belly. Even dead to the world, some parts of Eric couldn't be extinguished, I figured. I was really tempted to put him out of any misery he might be in, but his face looked so sweet that I didn't dare disturb him.

"Sorry, honey, I'll help you with that later," I said, sliding out of the bed—but not before dropping a kiss on his cheek.

It took me a few minutes to get cleaned up and text the number Eric had left for me. Sam had sent me a message late last night; Janice had a sick baby, and Laurie's mom was in the hospital, could I come in at all? Eric had been against it—he'd actually wanted to send yet another Fangtasia waitress over—but I won that round. After a heated discussion, I'd agreed to an escort into Bon Temps today in return for Eric not being a pain in the rear about my helping out Sam. So, per Eric's instructions, I drove around the corner to the local library, parked, and waited for Bobby Burnham to pick me up. (I assumed it was Bobby—Eric didn't have a long list of day people.)

It wasn't Bobby. For a second, I was too flabbergasted to return his greeting as the red truck pulled up next to me.

"Alcide?"

He stepped out, his cheeks tinged like his car. "Had a favor called in—not that I wouldn't have just helped if you'd asked," he finished, slightly sheepishly.

"Oh, of course." Still dazed, I let him help me up into the truck.

He slung himself up into his side of the truck. Without looking at me, he turned the truck to the road. "You know you've got friends." By "friends," he met FOtP. And that "tP" wasn't "the Police." I wondered if the pack ever gave out cards with the status on it—at least you should be able to cash them in for somebody to mow your lawn occasionally, or change your oil, I thought darkly.

"I don't mean to be an inconvenience—really, I could just drive home myself—"

"Right." Alcide had the good grace just to imply he was mocking me; he didn't actually say it. "Well, anyway, I'm not going to be with you all day—Eric's got it worked out that this is just a ride in to town."

"Ahhh." I wondered who would be my baby-sitter in town. "Great." I figured Gran would've boxed my ears for my attitude, so I added hastily, "Well, thanks, and please let me give you something for the gas."

"Already taken care of." Alcide's bright blue eyes flicked over at me. "By your….?"

"Are you asking my business, Alcide Hevereaux?" I slid my eyes right back over at him.

He turned even more red. "Is that fair?" We were at a light; he turned to look at me. Damn. It was hard to be mad at Alcide when I could see all the reasons I'd been attracted to him when we first met—a smart, honest, nice, manly guy. Heck, he wasn't even leering at me—he actually seemed concerned. I forced myself to keep out of his mind; I owed him that.

"Probably not," I found myself answering quietly. The light changed and the truck started moving again. I let my eyes stay with the traffic, not the man next to me. "Things are complicated, Alcide."

"I'd say so, since you're Northman's."

My head snapped over so fast I nearly broke it. "Whaaa…?"

"I'm not a fool, Sookie." He shrugged behind the wheel. "Everyone in this area knows about you two."

"Us…?"

"I knew it when he first called for me to help you, when your boyfriend was gone. Northman doesn't cash in favors just to help out buddies." He shrugged again. "And even though he can't stand the sight of me, around you, he calls me because he wants someone to escort you—someone safe." I still gawked at him. "And that vampire woman of his wouldn't have touched you without his permission." He shifted in his seat; I opted not to look down. "I don't think we need to say anything else." He gave a slight sniff, and I realized what he was telling me: my shower this morning wasn't effective in blotting out the scent of Eric all over me.

So much for disguises. I bit my lip. "As I said, things are complicated. I don't know what else to tell you, Alcide."

"Just be careful." For a minute, his chest seemed flat, without air. "He may have it bad, but a vampire's life is a dangerous one, Sookie—dangerous for him and those he loves."

I kept my face turned away from the inspecting glance Alcide aimed at me. "Are you telling me your life is so simple?"

"Got me there."

We drove in silence for a bit—I was a little afraid that Alcide would start up on his "101 Reasons to Leave Your Vampire Lover" bit, and even more afraid he'd start up his campaign to get back together. Not that I didn't like Alcide—I had liked him an awful lot, right from the start. But things hadn't happened, and no matter what he said, no matter what arguments he tried, I knew in my gut, sure as trying to fit a square into a round hole, that he wasn't The One.

A nightclub's ad on the radio brought me back to life (well, mental life.) "So, you own that Red Room, huh?"

It was a brilliant first question, but he took it in the spirit of conversational truce that was intended. "I'm a co-owner. Original owner couldn't pay for all the construction work, so we renegotiated our agreement so I'd get part of a stake in it. It's new. Why were you—well, hope you liked it." His face was scarlet again; he must've been thinking to ask about why I'd gone there with Pam.

Part of me wanted to set him straight (and set _me_ straight in his imagination), but another part was so exasperated with his misreading of me that I just wanted to let him stew in it. "A girl needs a night out sometime," I said tartly. Then I felt bad for being rude, because hadn't his sister had been awful sweet to me? And Alcide himself had always been there for me, despite the horrible pack fight into which he'd dragged me.

"Can I ask you a question about an employee?"

Surprised, he shot back, "Of course."

"Jerry Bratt? What do you know of him?"

It turned out, though, that Alcide knew little of Jerry. I kicked myself—of course. He wasn't going to hire Jerry if he'd written on the application, "Assassin for hire, willing to try to take out vamps. Success rate unknown." Nor did he know much of Evie, other than that she was the vampire lover of Jerry, and had been for some time.

"She's been coming around for a while," he told me apologetically. "I don't know when she started—probably at the ground breaking ceremony for the Red Room. I think she was representing the vamp community there."

I frowned. Why would Evie represent the vamps at a place in Eric's area? I wondered if Eric knew about this. Just for business reasons, I figured, he definitely wouldn't have been too happy to support a new Supe bar in the area. And Pam didn't seem to know the bar when we went there.

I asked him if it was a big ceremony and he shrugged again. Part of me wanted to smack him, out of sheer frustration, but I had to admit what he was remembering was pretty reasonable. My brother would've been a whole lot less help.

"It had to be a bigger event, since it was funded by a few different Supe groups—a ceremony always makes things more official." I got what he was saying there: If you tell the world, right out in public, that you're allies, you face a loss of honor if you stab your so-called ally in the back later. Or a loss of a working hand, I thought sadly.

"We had it organized by E(E)E—we had most of their staff in the state here, working the party tables—"

"That makes sense," I said thoughtlessly, earning an odd look from Alcide. It did make a lot of sense—maybe that's how Jerry and Evie met, there at the start of the Red Room. His brother worked for Quinn, and I knew Jerry had done some temp work for them—a stupid little business event brought them together--

"Funny how things work out," I mumbled to myself.

The truck was turning into Merlotte's, so I didn't have much longer to make small-talk. Alcide let me off with a kiss on the cheek, a warning to be careful, and a caution that he'd "see me later." Whether that meant he had Sookie baby-sitting duty later or not, I didn't know, and didn't ask—I had enough on my mind without getting angry at Eric again.

I headed into the bar, grabbing an apron. It wasn't yet that busy, thank goodness. Terry Bellefleur smiled at me from behind the stove and I waved back—even though I'd hardly been gone long, it felt good to be home. It was even good when Sam told me I'd be handling most of the lunch crowd today by myself, thanks to Mindy having a flat tire en route to Shreveport. She'd had to get a tow and a new tire put on, Sam informed me. Guilt clawed at me. Sure I didn't like Mindy and her perkiness, but a tow and a tire would be expensive for her, and she was only doing this because of me.

Sam interrupted my thoughts. "Don't worry, I'm sure boyfriend will pay for it."

"Sam Merlotte!" Without thinking, I let myself catch an echo of his thoughts—a vision of a triumphant, smirking Eric holding me in my bedroom. I stood there in my favorite white Sunday dress. He was dipping me slowly backwards for either a kiss or a bite, I wasn't sure which. Either way, the emotion behind the thought was clear as day: jealousy.

I don't know if he was aware I'd caught on to the nature of his thoughts—frankly, I didn't know what to say if he did. Sam just looked annoyed and waved out to the floor. "Customers first."

I was good and irate when I marched out to take my first orders. Fortunately, there weren't that many. Hoyt had stopped by. Sweet as always, he told me my ponytail looked especially bouncy today. I had Terry give him an extra-large helping of corn bread for his kindness.

Someone else popped by, but was entirely unexpected. I nearly dropped my platter when I saw my cousin Claude slouching in a booth all to himself. I have only seen Claude in Bon Temps maybe three times, and he definitely wasn't a Merlotte's regular. He ran a strip club over in Shreveport (Tara always wanted to go), and nothing we had in Bon Temps was of particular interest to him.

I paused at his booth. He was sulking, staring at a glass of water as if he wanted it to vanish.

"What, did you get a slice of lemon by accident?"

"Funny." His tone suggested otherwise. "Can't a man get a mixed drink in this dump?"

"It's not a dump and we don't serve that kind of thing now." Or ever, I might have pointed out. Sam could handle your occasional fruity girly drink, but that's about it. The men of Bon Temps pride themselves of taking their liquor straight and the ladies rarely go outside a gin-and-tonic. Fancy, we're not.

"Fine," he huffed. I couldn't help smiling. For one, Claude's such a jerk that his annoyance can't help but be amusing. (I guess I'm a bad Christian for that.) And two, Claude was pretty much gorgeous whatever he was doing. He even pouted beautifully. It was hard not to sigh and melt as he stuck his bottom lip out.

I was amused enough to slide into the booth next to him. "So what brings you here, Claude?"

"A favor." He shot me a look. "You must be a good fuck, cousin."

Well, now. In some parts of the area, sure, those words might be exchanged between cousins, but Jason and I had been raised on the idea that common DNA between bedmates was a bad, bad thing.

"I don't know what you're talking about and I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your mouth, Claude Crane. Don't make me get the Pledge," I added spitefully. I wasn't talking about an oath. Fairies can't handle lemon—even a lemon-scented cleaner makes them run for the hills.

"I didn't say anything that wasn't true," he snorted, sliding down in the booth. His boots were on the cushion next to me—I shoved them, to make him put his feet on the floor, but of course he wouldn't move them. "You're screwing Northman, and he's screwing me." He pouted again; he wasn't getting the screwing he wanted.

Did I mention Claude's gay?

"Are you stalking Eric? Is that what this is about?"

He rolled his eyes at my stupidity. "Northman called in a favor I owed him. He wanted me to keep an eye on you for a bit, kill anybody who touches you, that kind of thing." He waved a hand airily. "So here I am."

He was really peeved about being there. "Well, um, thanks." I frowned. "I didn't know you knew Eric?" That was putting it politely. Although fairies made Eric (and all vamps) intoxicated, sending the vamps into an ecstatic frenzy, Eric's personal opinion was that there wasn't a fairy who wasn't trouble. And frankly I couldn't really imagine Claude Crane, fairy, rude, gay, and a head of a male strip club, would ever be in Eric's top circle. Heck, I couldn't even imagine Claude and _Pam_ facing off without foreseeing imminent battle.

"He helped me once." Claude looked shaken to admit he'd ever needed help. "Some of my dancers were all sick on a big night. Some kind of Mexican flu." We both looked confused, but he shrugged it off. "I needed dancers, so I called your man."

Only one word came to mind. "Why?" Visions of Eric stripping were dancing before my head, like a twisted version of the Sugar Plum fairy. I bit my lip so hard it bled. Sugar Plums, indeed. I started giggling hysterically. Well, they were at least lickable…

Across from me, Claude shrugged, oblivious. "I said I was your cousin, I needed help, could he send some hot pieces my way. But not too hot." I understood his sudden straightening of his collar. Claude was the star of his own show, no mistake about it. "He did, they danced, we made money, and now he calls in his favor." Claude pushed his drink around again. "I thought it might be another favor." He gave me a little smirk. "Sorry, cousin, but he's hot."

"Oh, thanks, _cousin_." I was used to Jason trying to jump every female friend I brought around. Clearly, I was going to have to watch my back with Claude and the men I knew.

He whistled under his breath. "So, who's _that_?"

Before I could look over my shoulder, I could hear Hoyt's voice. "Big Jay! 'Bout time!"

_AN: Thanks for all reviews! I appreciate your thoughts. :K, as Eric would write._


	58. Chapter 58

"Oh, thanks, _cousin_." I was used to Jason trying to jump every female friend I brought around. Clearly, I was going to have to watch my back with Claude and the men I knew.

He whistled under his breath. "So, who's _that_?"

Before I could look over my shoulder, I could hear Hoyt's voice. "Big Jay! 'Bout time!"

Let me tell you this: You may or may not believe in the Tooth Fairy, but you better believe fairies move _fast_. Before I could grab Claude, my cousin had jumped out of the both and was strolling toward Hoyt and Jason's table like a very, very hungry cat. He shook his dark hair leisurely, stuck his thumbs in his tight, tight jeans (just enough to tug them down and show some finely toned belly, and oozed his way to Jason's table.

"Ohhhhhh." Was that me or all of the women in the room? It was hard to tell.

I shook off my lust (with difficulty, I'll admit; Claude is pretty much the visual equivalent of a slice of double-chocolate cake—a bit of salivating is pretty much guaranteed) and hustled over to the table.

"Hey." Claude gave a slow smile downwards at Jason, who looked both startled and confused.

"Uh, yeah? Sook, this a friend of yours?" Jason glanced at me—a tad nervously. I guess he had some survival instincts, after all.

"In a manner of speaking. Come on, Claude." I tugged at Claude's elbow, but it was like iron. (A comparison he wouldn't appreciate, since iron is lethal for fairies.) "Come _on_, Claude," I hissed, this time with more irritation. When I'd always wished for more family, why hadn't I asked God that they not be pains in the butt, too?

"You're not bad," Claude said, ignoring me entirely.

"Huh?" Jason, bless him, was without a clue. Sweet dim Hoyt, on the other hand, had eyes the size of saucers—his bulb had definitely flicked on.

"Let's ditch this shithole and have some fun." Claude felt the need to "scratch" his stomach, and by that I mean lift his shirt up to his pecs.

Across the room, I heard a woman drop a glass, muttering, "Lord have Mercy."

"I'll let you lick the lollypop," Claude added. Just in case Jason was thick—and okay, I guess sometimes he might need a little nudge—Claude's fingers flicked open the top button of his jeans.

Both of us Stackhouses went off at once. I don't know which exclaimed first.

"Oh, my Lord. _That_ is your idea of a pick up line? That is just _gross_—"

"What the fuck? I think you'd better explain right fast—dude, you better keep that shit AWAY--Sookie, what the _fuck_—"

Hoyt grabbed Jason's arm before he could get to his feet. Forced to take a second to think, Jason regrouped. "Okay, I get you, man, you're trying to make a move on my sister, but I have to say, that shit ain't appreciated."

"I'm not talking to your sister." Claude smiled. I dropped my shields long enough to hear little Sara Brown in the next booth decide Claude was cuter than the Jonas Brothers.

The truth was descending upon Jason, from the way he was turning white in front of my eyes. He shook his head frantically, as if by wishing he could just change the situation. I sincerely sympathized with him—until he opened his mouth. "You mean Sookie? She's a pretty girl. Takes pretty hot pictures, too. Show 'em, Sook. She's stacked." He made a gesture with his hands for which Gran would've slapped him. I'd have done it, too, if I weren't trying to keep a grip on Claude, just-in-case.

Hoyt at least looked properly revolted. "That's your sister!"

"I didn't take 'em—her man did!"

Naturally, the bar music took that opportunity to turn off, just so everybody in Merlotte's heard us. The bombardment of thoughts was too much for my focus, which dropped. Immediately, the thoughts came pouring in—

_I knew that Sookie was up to no good—_

_Wish there were pictures of that guy with her; now _he _is hot._

_I saw him at Hooligan's! It was pirate night and he was Long Dong Silver. _

_Wonder how much he'd sell the pictures for—put that on my site, and I'd get some serious change…_

_I saw on TV that Marcia and Greg Brady went on a date. Is that legal? _

_Pictures of Sookie and a vampire? Or more than one? They're into freaky shit, I heard. _

_I heard about that "sexting" on the news just yesterday. And here, in our own town!_

_Stackhouse is checking out his own sister? That's fucked up, even if her tits are great._

_I love my goat._

—And so on. I fought for control of my thoughts. Fighting back nausea, I resisted the urge to bury my face in Claude's shirt. He'd just bitch about getting my makeup on his clothes, anyway.

Claude hadn't taken his eyes off Jason. "Do you need a man?" Just about every glass in Merlotte's was dropped at that moment, I swear, and just about every eye was on us.

Jason's face had turned red and he was on his feet in a heartbeat. Now, my brother's not the most intolerant guy—heck, he used to love to watch TV with poor dear Lafayette, and he loved hearing about Lafayette's life, just so long as Lafayette didn't refer to his lovers by name or pronoun. But I guess this crossed some invisible line for him. "Do you need your ass kicked?"

"Yes," Claude sent promptly, and Jason gave him another confused look. Clearly, this was not proper protocol.

"Problem, Sookie?" Sam, bless him, was suddenly next to us. He had addressed his question to me because, in the weird dance that is male relations, he couldn't just say he'd understood Jason had been hit on; he didn't want to offend Jason by suggesting he was aware of it.

It was all too stupid for me, frankly.

"Yes, these idiots are about to fight," I said shortly. "And Claude needs to leave, not fight."

Sam did a double-take at Claude, but not because of his looks, I realized. Sam's face set in grim lines.

"Just leaving, then, buddy?" he asked Claude, and then stepped over to another table.

Claude smiled again at Jason but at least gave Sam the respect of a single, sulky glance. "No, but I wish I could. This place is a sty." What can you say? My cousin's a jackass.

"You can feel free to go, then," Sam said shortly, and I saw why. "Drink, Stackhouse?" He slid in front of Jason a big glass of water…with a lemon top.

That worked; Claude grimaced and took a step back. "Fine. I'll be over there," he told me, and then sauntered back into his booth across the room.

There was a collective sigh of relief from the men. There was also a collective sigh from the women, but for different reasons.

Sam leaned into me. "Do you want me to ask him to go?"

"No, he's got to stay—don't ask. I'll make him behave." Jason still looked green, so I said to him, "He was drunk, he won't even remember it later." Never mind that it was barely noon and Claude showed not the slightest symptom of being drunk. That was enough for Jason to understand and he nodded firmly.

"Must've just had some real jacked-up shit, right, Hoyt."

"Yeah." Hoyt looked unconvinced, but he had the kindness not to say anything.

"Well, then, show's over. Back to work." Sam gave me a nudge and I began to make my circuit, double-checking everybody's drinks, then pausing to sit down at Claude's table.

"I've got to make this quick, but I'm giving you two things to remember here. One, don't go hitting on anybody here." I thought about pointing out he'd just make life more difficult for the gay men in Bon Temps but opted not to; Claude's definitely not one for charity. Hell, he's definitely not one for anybody but himself. "Two, sit here and don't move. You don't need to attract more attention to yourself."

"Nobody's rejected me before." He was actually sticking his bottom lip out. "I want him."

"Well, you can't have him," I snapped. Okay, I was probably a bit more cross than I should have been, since Claude was suffering the unspeakable horror of finally being turned down, but I wasn't in the mood to get out the ice cream and have a heart-to-heart with him. I slid out of my booth and kept working my parts of the bar, giving Claude a good stink-eye whenever I passed him. Not that it mattered; he was reading a book and ignoring me. _Some bodyguard_ _Eric got there_, I snickered to myself, but then remembered I was supposed to be irritated with this Babysitting Sookie project, anyway, so an incompetent—or at least not very watchful--bodyguard shouldn't be a bother to me.

Make that an _annoying_, incompetent bodyguard, I thought, as Claude sighed pointedly for the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes. He managed to flip a page of his book, although it seemed like it took all of his strength to do so. (I snorted to myself. Poor baby.)

I couldn't help myself. In my next circuit around my tables, I paused by his. "Look, if you're so bored, you can clear out."

He didn't look up from his book. "Can't, so won't."

I was sorely tempted to dump Mrs. Allerby's lemonade on his head, but resisted. "Eric won't get on your case—Sam's here, see? I'm sure he'd be okay if you took off," I put in encouragingly.

Claude's brown eyes appeared over the edge of his book. (I recognized the cover—it was that man who made up his biography and Oprah ripped him a good one. Tara had enjoyed that episode so much that she insisted we re-play later that night.) "You really are an idiot."

Okay, that lemonade idea was suddenly no longer a joke. "And you're being a jackass, so I guess we're even." I kept my biggest smile on my face, so nobody would notice I was dangerously close to whacking my cousin with my tray. Nobody except Sam, of course, who was almost on point behind the bar, watching us.

Jackass, yes; idiot, no. Claude picked up on what I was doing and matched me, beam for beam. We were putting on a real ad for Crest back there, we were. "If you can't see why your boyfriend would get pissed if I left, you're an idiot and deserve whatever happens." He folded his arms and made a huffing noise of discontent. All I could hear was an unhappy "Women"; whatever else he muttered, I didn't want to know.

I stomped off and made another tour around the room—half to keep up with my tables, and half to cool down a bit. _Claude's doing you a favor. Yes, he's an ass, but he's a caring ass. He's here for Eric. Just keep thinking how freaked out Eric would be if Claude left—and he's not really bothering you, if you just quit poking your nose in his direction. And Sam's going to get a heck of a lot of money today in extra drinks because the women here are sure not leaving fast, for some reason…_

I was behind the bar, washing off the counter, when Sam touched my arm. He didn't say anything, just tilted his head to the corner.

"Oh, my."

Selah Pumphrey had taken the seat across from Claude and she was studiously examining the bar menu.

"She's in your section. Want me to get it?" Sam offered quietly.

"No, she's at one of my tables." To be honest, we were jumping now, and the other girls would probably stab me with a fork if I started passing tables back to Sam. We were all pitching in to keep Merlotte's functioning smoothly—not to dump everything on Sam. I grabbed my notepad and headed over to her table.

"What can I get you, Selah?" I gave her my best grin. And I wasn't catty in the least, not remembering Bill had dumped her ass and we both knew it. Oh, no. Not me. Not at all. That would be just low class of me, wouldn't it?

She curled her lip over the menu like it might bite her. "Not much healthy here, is there?"

I tried very hard not to smack her with my notepad, for two reasons. One: Merlotte's is your basic neighborhood bar. I haven't traveled much, but I haven't seen any neighborhood bar that differed very much from Merlotte's menu. If it's not made on a grill or a fryer, Merlotte's doesn't make it. Why would you come here expecting the fare to meet up to your diet trends?

And two: Selah had been here before, repeatedly, when she was dating Bill. (As she went out of her way to remind me, at the time. She all but carried a neon sign around saying, "HE'S MINE NOW, TRAMP." Tara had tried to spit in her salad, I remembered sadly.) So, anyway, all of this talk about healthy food was just unnecessary nastiness.

"Drink?" I said simply, deciding the best way was just to cut to the chase. She ordered a diet drink and a salad ("if it was actually made here—you don't just go to the store and buy them in bags, do you?"), but with such theatricality that I had to wonder what her game was.

And then I remembered what game was sitting right next to her. I looked over, and then back again—oh, yes. Selah was posing and preening like a peacock, all to get Claude's attention. I vaguely recalled seeing on that Animal Planet channel that only male peacocks did the preening, but I figured the comparison worked, anyway, as Selah was no woman by my standards.

_Forgive me, Lord_, I prayed hastily, and then spun to my cousin.

"Claude, honey, can I get you anything? I know you've driven so far—Shreveport and all." I said it just-loudly-enough.

He looked startled but waved me away, so he could get back to his book. I walked away, trying and failing to suppress unchristian thoughts. I slid behind the bar again, standing next to Sam.

"You are trouble, Sookie Stackhouse."

"I try." If I smirked a bit, well, who could blame me?

I kept refilling drinks, watching the interplay at the corner table. _Take the bait, Selah, take the bait…_After a cool minute, I saw Selah turn to face Claude's table directly. She said something, and he ignored her. She even scooted over a bit, to say something across the way to him.

Sam leaned into me. "Says she's from Shreveport, too."

"Yeah, bet she wants to be," I muttered.

Selah gestured again at the table and I poked Sam.

"She likes his book," he murmured from the corner of his mouth. "She's saying it was very inspiring."

Whatever Claude said next made Selah turn pink and Sam chuckle softly. She made some apologetic gestures with her hands, and Claude lifted his face fully from his book. From the expression on his face, I could tell love wasn't on his mind. I tugged at Sam's shirt sleeve, feeling like a little child in a theater. "Well?"

"He said she's clearly hasn't read the book. She tried to BS him and he said she's full of shit and not to bother him."

Claude said something else, too, and this time threw something at Selah's table—Selah grabbed her purse, threw some money down on the table, and bolted.

"Do I want to know what that was?"

Sam started polishing the bar taps with the too-attentive air of somebody who suspected others might be watching. "He said he only talks to annoying women when he's being paid, and I think that was a business card he threw at her." He dropped his voice. "Your _friend_ doing something illegal, Sook?"

It took me a second to get what Sam was saying. "No! Jesus, Sam!" I saw a couple of the afternoon crowd's heads turn our way, so I lowered my voice. "He's a stripper!"

Sam looked as if he'd rathered Claude was a male prostitute after all, so I headed away, annoyed at men again. Well, not all. I brought Claude a fresh glass of (lemon-free) water in exchange for the amusement he'd just provided me.

"So how's work doing for you?" I asked him, just to make conversation a bit. (Besides, I felt a little bored just watching him be bored.)

He shrugged. "It's all right, working on some new routines now. _Star Trek, _you know." I didn't know, but nodded anyway.

I glanced around the room; nobody was in need of a refill yet. "Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"Yes, enormous, because they're hot, born that way, easier than you think, bottom, Brad Pitt, anything else?" he droned from his book. Hearing my snort, he glanced up from the book again. "I said, anything else?"

I slid into the booth again. "What do you know about the vampires around here?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" he drawled.

"Do you have any contact with other vamps? Like a blond woman, Evie?" I described her rapidly. Claude shuddered in horror at my mention of her dyed hair.

"We have many skunks at Hooligan's. I can't kick them out for bad taste," he groaned. Well, what do you know. He could end up Pam's best friend after all. "Besides, they tend to pay just so long as they get a feel."

"Okay, I didn't need to know that. But Evie—have you seen her? I mean, she's a vamp—how many of those do you get in?"

He shrugged again. "A few. Not her; I think I'd remember that. But we get a few other vamps in on Thursdays."

"Thursdays?"

"My day off-stage." He tapped his blunt-tipped ear significantly. "They can't handle me being out in the open." He sounded a little too proud about that. "But they like the scent—just imagining me." He rubbed his chest, apparently, as best I could tell, flirting with himself. He definitely sounded happy just to contemplate his own attractiveness.

"Ahhh, so Thursdays is Vamp Night."

"Right. And we try to keep any gothic themes off-stage that night." So no _Dracula_-themed revues, I gathered.

"So what vamps go?" I listened carefully, trying to put names to the descriptions he gave. I recognized a lot of the Fangtasia vamps (no wonder he'd called Eric for back-up when his dancers were sick). No Evie, though.

"…And we've got a big tipper lately, some guy who isn't in town often."

You could've jolted me with a cattle prod and I'd not have sat up faster. "What does this guy look like? Do you know his name?"

Claude sprawled back against his seat negligently, beautifully. "I haven't had the pleasure of an introduction." He smiled in a way that made me know his idea of introductions didn't include hand-shaking. "But those who have served him say he goes by the name John. My friend Gage said he's a lot more interesting than his name." He winked.

I must've groaned—of course. Because when you go to a strip bar, and engage in possibly/probably illegal activities, you're always going to use your real name. _Stupid, stupid Sookie!_

"Gage said it was a football joke of some kind." Claude paused to check his fingernails. "But if he's not wearing the pants—"

"Yeah, yeah, tight ends and all, I get it." Actually, I was with Claude on that point. The outfits did definitely make some of the boring games bearable. But that was beside the point.

"This vampire—John—could you describe him?" Maybe I'd ask Eric if he knew of him. After all, if this guy just popped up in town, maybe he was related to our mess somehow?

"A bit taller than you, not much." _Not a tall man, then_. "Liked suits—expensive stuff." _That could mean anything—most vamps have a lot of money, just because time's on their side. But wearing a suit? Not all vamps wear suits. _"Dark hair—black, I think." He swirled a finger in his hair. "Curly." I was getting a mental picture, but I could barely make myself put it forward.

"Claude—did this guy say where he was from?"

Claude shrugged. "Don't know. He _is_ hoity-toity—he even whipped out a silk handkerchief one night. Gave it to one of the dancers during a lap dance. " Claude surveyed the room. "I said he should've given it to me—it would be a lot more useful than the never-ending thongs I get."

"I can imagine," I said politely, even though my mind was humming with energy. I wished I had vampire recall—it'd be nice to know what my mind was trying to tell me. "I've got to check on my other tables—be back in a sec, Claude." He grunted and went back to his book.

I made my rounds once more. Hoyt had come back with his momma; she was getting a recipe from Terry Bellefleur. I stared at Hoyt as something again nagged me insistently—you'd have almost thought Claudine was behind me, hitting me on the head to remember.

"Hoyt," I asked slowly. "What was that game that you and Jason went out to get at midnight?" (Jason told me they "had to go" because Walmart had a "sweet price" on it. It was no business of mine, anyway. But I could say, though they'd played all night, to their credit, they went to work the next day.)

"Football for my X-Box," Hoyt said. Terry Bellefleur turned questioningly to Hoyt. "The new John Madden."

"Oh, yeah," Terry said, with about as much enthusiasm as I'd have mustered.

Normally, anyway. At that moment, I could've kissed Hoyt and Terry both. _John Madden—a football joke_. Victor Madden had been lurking in Hooligan's! I didn't know if it got us any closer to figuring out his role in the attacks on the Fangtasia vamps and myself, but it did show Victor had been creepily hanging out in this area when he had no legitimate reason to be.

In my euphoria, I grabbed my cell phone and typed out a fast message. "Do you have a problem if I go to a strip club tonight?"


	59. Chapter 59

In my euphoria, I grabbed my cell phone and typed out a fast message. "Do you have a problem if I go to a strip club tonight?"

Five minutes later, as I was clearing off one of my tables, my phone buzzed in my pocket. We were slowing down from the lunch rush, so I chanced a peek.

"Women or men?"

I winced; I had been hoping he would be too surprised to ask that question. Oh, well. Time to pay the piper. "Men."

It only took 30 seconds this time for a response to come back—he must've been semi-alert, waiting for my message.

"If you need a performance, I alone will give it to you."

Well, that was pretty clear—clear enough my cheeks immediately flamed with particular images coming to mind. _Would he actually –_ but it was Eric, so the answer was oh, hell, yes, he would—and you know he'd like it, too, since he's always so pleased when I admired him--

"Oh, shoot!" I hastily swept up the salt I'd spilled, and then put myself back to work. I adjusted my ponytail, walked the table's garbage to the kitchen, and thought about my response.

"Not about that," I pecked out slowly. "It's Victor. I have a lead." I had to stash the phone back in my pocket as I saw a couple of my tables were finishing up and had to be rung out. By the time I had collected my tips, I had another buzz from my phone.

"We will discuss this tonight. Need to know more." Apparently, his serious mood wasn't going to last long. "And note: I will remove my clothing anytime you like."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks, glad to know it." I wasn't too keen on delaying the action until I got to talk to him tonight, but I wanted to live up to my end of our bargain.

My hand buzzed, so I checked it. "In fact, I am naked now."

I guess I should be glad he hadn't sent me a photo to prove this, but then again, I suppose I didn't need to know—I had left him in the bedroom that morning, after all, just sprawled out on the bed, naked as the day he was born... I adjusted my neckline—Sam must have forgotten to turn up the air conditioner, clearly.

My space had suddenly dropped down to just Claude and two other tables, and none of them wanted anything, so I could play at the bar a little. I pulled out my phone again and typed, biting my cheek, "I know. I took photos. ;)"

I thought it would throw him off-stride. I also apparently was thinking of someone entirely else, because this was Eric, and since when did he find someone enjoying his body embarrassing? In seconds, my phone vibrated again. "Look all you like, lover. And lick if you like, too. :K "

"Ass," I typed back, but I was smiling.

"Darling," he shot back.

I was a little worried about where he'd take that line of thought, so I switched tracks. "By the way: I forgot to clean the kitchen, will do that tonight."

A minute later, he'd gotten back to me. "I have cleaners." He didn't call them "maids" because I was willing to bet what he had was not a maid service, or a general cleaning service, but a glamour-the-fangbangers-and-make-them-mop kind of service. It definitely wasn't Pam or any of the vamps; they are awful with manual labor. (Heck, I'd pay good money just to see Eric try to figure out a cleaning solution's spray nozzle. He'd probably end up spraying himself in the eye.)

"NO." Embarrassed, I couldn't bring myself to type out why. I could never stand having another person cleaning up after, well, my intimate encounters. That'd be just gross. And it felt like a violation, for another person to know about…that. All of that, including the last time, when his hair made a curtain around us as he moved, as he whispered my name so desperately, so reverently…My face was burning at the memories, but they released waves of giddiness in me, all the same.

Besides—I shook my head to clear it--I was the only person who actually _ate_ and used that kitchen, I'd really like to know the cleaning job was well done.

Eric apparently wasn't taking keenly to my stubbornness. "Later." It wasn't a "later" as in "good-bye"—no, Eric would never leave off an opportunity to make me squirm. No, he just wanted to table the discussion.

Well, that was two things we'd have to deal with when he got up. Awake, that is. I bit my cheek to bring myself down from the bubbling feeling of the night before, and forced myself to toughen up.

"So, who else is babysitting me today?" It took a few more texts for Eric to grasp my disdain (or to be willing to acknowledge it; I had a feeling he knew darned well what my opinion would be of the whole "sit and watch Sookie" project). "You bugged Alcide to drive me here?" Even before the little run-in of the other night, the last time Alcide and Eric had been in the same room, they'd been glaring at each other. I attributed it all to male power issues and refused to think about it.

"Just want you to know the best man in your life, lover," he finally responded.

"Claude?" I couldn't help but tease.

"Very amusing, dear one."

My tables were down to just Claude now, but one of the other waitresses was checking out. I typed quickly, "Got to go." In a rush, I added, "Miss you," and slammed the phone shut, kicking myself for the way my stomach had started to buck and twist. What was the big deal? It wasn't like it wasn't true…

"I'm out, cousin." Claude was in front of me, wrinkling his nose disdainfully. "Tell Eric the Northman to come to my club soon." He positioned his sunglasses carefully on his face. "You can come, too."

I made myself thank Claude—some show of kindness was a step for him, I reminded myself—and walked him to the door. The next baby-sitter, I saw, had arrived. "Oh, hell!"

I guess Eric really was making a point. Or just torturing me, I don't know. I hurried back into the bar, frantically searching for something to keep me occupied. This was not a conversation I felt like having. Terry needed back-up washing dishes; I ducked into the kitchen thankfully.

Sam popped his head in. "Sook—that Calvin Norris—"

"Is here, I know."

Sam observed Terry for a minute. Our chef was watching _Ellen_ on the little table-top television and appeared oblivious to us.

"He said to tell you he's here if you need anything."

You could almost hear the question mark in Sam's words.

"He's just keeping an eye out, same as you." Sam's cheeks reddened. Hah! I knew if Eric would call in anybody, he'd call Sam.

"I've always done by you what I'd do anyway," Sam said stiffly, and I felt bad for rubbing my relationship in.

"No, that's sweet of you, Sam—it's just…"I searched for something that wouldn't offend him. "It's Calvin. He's…"

Sam lowered his voice. "A little creepy?" At my shocked expression, he shrugged. "I've heard how things are _there_." Neither of us wanted to mention Hotshot. It gave me too many Stephen King images. "And he's here with a kid."

"That's his daughter!" I wasn't going to let Sam get away with implying _that._ Calvin Norris was a good man. Not my type on this or any planet, but a good man, still.

"Right." Sam didn't seem convinced.

"I saw that on Dr. Phil the other day," Terry offered out of the blue. "Old guy with bunch of young girl wives." Terry paused delicately, then plunged on. "It was not right."

Something in the way he said "right" trembled in the air, so both Sam and I hastily turned the conversation away from Calvin and the Hotshot crew. It wasn't like we had time to sit and chat for a long time, anyway; as I reminded myself, I was there to help the bar, and sitting in the back for hours on end wasn't going to help Merlotte's.

It wasn't as bad as I feared, thank goodness. Calvin and his family stayed to their table and they didn't talk much to me. Calvin gave me a few Looks of the kind that made my palms sweaty and my feet want to flee, but he didn't try to give me any unfortunate proposals when he asked for his appetizer or a drink refill.

Thankfully, Calvin was the last of the parade of boyfriends/boyfriend material past. He stayed for a good two hours, and then another hour later, there was Alcide back at the bar to drive me home. Sam didn't look happy but he helped me get in Alcide's truck without making a comment on my living arrangements, or my choice of chauffeur. (Or non-choice, really.)

Alcide was on his best behavior as we drove back to Shreveport; he didn't say much and encouraged me to shut my eyes as he drove. It _had _been a long day and my feet had that soreness that was screaming for a nice hot bath. Within minutes, I was fully asleep, and it seemed like just a minute more when I felt a bubbling warmth spread across me. I opened my eyes to see a familiar façade in front of the truck. "Here at last." Alcide dropped me off at the front door of Fangtasia, accepting my thanks with a nod and a reminder to "be careful." It annoyed me more than a little; do people think I want to end up getting hurt or, Lord forbid, killed? Especially since half the time, the people telling me to "be careful" are precisely the ones who got me hurt in the first place?

But that wasn't a good thought to dwell on, so I made my way over to Pam, who was working the front door. "Sookie." She laid her cool cheek next to mine, as if we hadn't seen each other in ages. "I do hope you have made plans tonight. I am already bored with this lot."

"I'll do my best," I informed her, and she waved me inwards.

I barely got three steps in before the squealing herd of college girls at the merchandise area (probably looking at the Vamp-a-Day calendar, Eric's latest idea), parted. My own Vamp-Every-Day strolled through them.

"Why, if it isn't my lover," he said, drawing my hand up to his mouth. In case you thought he was going to give my hand a gentlemanly kiss, you'd be wrong; he turned it over just to lave a slow lick across the wrist, his eyes never wavering from mine. "I have missed you." Still keeping his eyes trained on mine, he put a small, gentle kiss right on top of the pulse he'd ignited.

Say what you want of Eric, but you have to admit, he knows how to greet a woman.

"Are you quite done?" I managed, a bit breathlessly.

He winked at me across the span of my palm, then straightened. "Not at all, but come this way. We have much to discuss." His hand at my back, I was ushered towards the backroom, feeling the female patrons' eyes planting daggers in my back all the way.

We ended up in his office, where I was surprised to see Pam and Bill already waiting. "Good. Our little gathering is ready," Eric said, steering me to the chair next to his. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bill nod a greeting to me.

"Sookie, tell us this information you have heard today."

"A vampire—and I think it is Victor Madden—is going to Hooligan's regularly. My cousin's strip club—for men dancers," I mentioned, in case any of the vamps didn't know it. "And I think we should check it out."

"That's it?" Pam tugged at the edge of her elbow-length gloves with annoyance. "This is what we've been summoned to hear?"

"Well…yes. You don't think that might be important? That Victor's been here, regularly?"

All three of the vamps looked at me with matching expressions of obliviousness.

Deep breath. I tried again. "He's here, doing something seedy?"

The vamps looked at one another now, and I could see a stare down was occurring. Pam apparently lost, as she spun to me, after casting an evil glare on both the men in present. "Sookie, you are innocent but not an idiot. You know our kind are lovers of great experience." In case the euphemism didn't sink in, I guess, she added impatiently, "We fuck everything. Do you think we give a fuck whom he fucks?"

"Is it necessary to be so rude?" Bill piped up. Naturally. He'd be an expert in this topic, all right. "Sookie, darling, vampires—we do not obey your human conventions."

"Compton." Eric's voice was arctic.

Bill huffed, but focused back on me. "We do not judge one another on these things."

"Maybe you don't, but I do," Pam shot back irritably. "He ought to have some taste, at least. _Hooligan's_? Like he couldn't do better."

Bill appeared about ready to pop off at Pam again, so I spoke up, loudly. "I am not talking about whether he's gay or bi or whatever you lot are!" I'm sure my face was red as the mystery Tabasco sauce on Eric's desk. (I'd asked him once why he had Tabasco sauce, and he told me it was "for flavor," although what he meant, I had no idea.) Frustrated, I slapped my hand on my leg; from the side of my gaze, I saw Eric's fingers rise a millimeter from the desk, and suddenly all vampires' eyes were on me.

"I think it's important that Victor is coming here often. You can't tell me he can't find some guy dancers in Vegas. There has to be a reason he's coming here, other than, well, that."

"True," Pam said thoughtfully. "Once you've seen one, you've seen them all." She drummed her fingers on the armrest of the couch. "So, Sookie will go to this show and tell us what she finds?"

"No!" I exclaimed, simultaneously with Eric and Bill.

"I'm not going to have see a bunch of—a bunch of—" I caught myself stammering.

Pam waved negligently. "Spare us. It is not as if you haven't memorized _his_ by now. Did you look for the birthmark yet?"

"Pam," Eric barked, and she looked momentarily abashed.

"Well, we can't send Eric in there to inspect things, that is for certain."

I didn't want Eric in there, anyway, just for personal reasons, but I had to ask. "Why?"

"Do you want to deal with riots?" She raised an eyebrow. "We were flooded with calls when we had our ads up for Fangtasies."

"Fangtasies?" I winced; I couldn't help it. Fortunately, none of the vamps took note. Eric was too busy looking about as modest as he could, which is to say, not at all.

"We were considering making our own club," Eric told me. "As an addition to Fangtasia. We made some promotional material to gauge interest, then showed it to your cousin."

"He graciously gave us a cut, if we wouldn't open our own place after all." Pam was suddenly at one of the filing cabinets. "I still have the promotional material…ahhh, here." Bill took it and rolled his eyes, passing a flyer to me with almost a speed beyond light.

I could see why he was desperate to get the flyer out of his hand, and why Claude would rather just pay the vamps off versus risk them bringing this project to reality. The promotional image was had two images: one of Eric in a black velvet cape, like Dracula; his blond hair was brushed back neatly and tied at the base of his neck. The other was a naked Eric reclining on his side on the rumpled cape. His hair was gloriously mussed, and he was baring his fangs and his glistening body at the camera. His most sellable asset was covered by a half-dozen or so roses he was holding across his hip, and a couple strategically placed wine bottles. "We only bite if you want us to," promised the ad.

I'd have wanted him to.

Eric's voice penetrated my haze. "Feel free to keep it."

"Oh, I will." I accepted the extras Pam passed me, too, and tucked them all in my purse. "So, let me get this straight—you blackmailed my cousin with threats of opening a rival club." Granted, Claude was not high up on my list of favorite people, but that didn't mean I was going to approve of taking him for a ride.

"This is the way they operate," Bill muttered, earning a hiss from Pam.

"Compton. That is twice now." Eric's voice was quiet, too quiet. Then he swiveled to look at me. "Everything was above-board, dearest," he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. Although his body was relaxed, stretched out to its fullest, his voice was emphatic as a door slamming. No further comment on that point then, although I suppose I could see why; he might not care if we argued in front of Pam, but I knew he'd get annoyed if Bill saw us fight.

"Fine, whatever." I rubbed my forehead, feeling a headache come on. Every single vampire flipped toward me again.

"You are unwell?" Eric's feet snapped off the desk and he was now leaning over to me, hand on my wrist.

"Just a headache." I couldn't allude to being tired in front of Bill and Pam. Lord knew what Pam would say, and how Bill would react. What was I saying? Of course it didn't take the Lord to know all that; I knew it perfectly well.

"I will fetch the human medication." Pam disappeared, just-like-that. You'd have thought I was dying on the spot, rather than just a touch achy. Then again, vamps really didn't grasp the idea of low-level pain, so it made sense they'd overreact.

In another heartbeat, Pam was back with some Advil and a Coke. It took a few minutes of arguing before the vamps agreed I did not have to recline on the couch in my delicate mortal state.

When we got settled again, Eric brought us back to the point. "So we are to believe Victor is coming regularly into this area, although we do not know if it is Victor."

"Yes."

"Or why the other Area 5 vampires have not reported his presence at this venue back to me."

"Why would they? Do they have to tell you everything? Would you report everything about going to a trashy skin bar?" I grouched over my Coke.

"It would not be wise, not to mention this," Pam informed me. Eric inclined his head a degree, to indicate agreement. Even Bill didn't disagree—and if he wasn't taking a chance to differentiate himself from Eric and Pam, that meant it was a general vampire truth. A vampire commandment? My weary brain put that thought to the side, to focus on what was at hand.

"Okay, so not wise, got it. Oh!" My chat with Alcide came back to me, and I briefed them rapidly on what Alcide had said—Evie at the founding of the Red Room, representing the vamps.

The vamps may not have lapped up my news about Victor, but this definitely got their attention. Eric actually _growled_. Pam sat on point like a Rottweiler about to spring. Bill made fists of his hands, tensing visibly.

"Well, well," Eric said finally. He was gazing steadily at Pam and Bill. "How very interesting." He didn't say it in the way you'd say something really _was_ interesting, or even just the opposite (like Sam always told his aunt over the phone that the Christmas present she'd sent was "interesting"). He said it in the way that made the hairs stand up the back of your neck, and not in a good way. I was too unnerved to dare ask why he was so murderously angry.

"I do not tolerate interlopers." Both Bill and Pam gave deep nods, almost bows.

"I will not tolerate usurpers." Again, they both did the deep-bow thingy. I clutched my Coke and sat still.

"Your will be done, Master," Pam said quietly.

"Oh, it will be." Eric sat back in his chair again; he glanced over at me and took in my ramrod posture. "Bill, Pam—a minute." It was testimony to his mood that even Bill hustled out quickly, even though I was being left with the Big Bad Wolf, so to speak—or Big Bad Viking, as he definitely wouldn't have appreciated the first comparison.

He had his hand under my chin, turning my face towards his. What big eyes he had, indeed. "Relax. You will be safe." He brushed my forehead with his lips.

"You aren't relaxing me." I felt his lips curve against my skin and hurried on. "What was all that about?" It hurt my pride to say it was scary to see him in such a mood.

He slid back just a little, so I could look into his face as he searched mine. "Someone appears to be encroaching upon my position. Such an event as that ground-breaking—it should have been attended by my people. By me, even."

"Is this—Eric, now don't get me wrong, but is this just about courtesy?" It couldn't be; Eric didn't give a rat's behind about courtesy. Automatically, I reached out with my free hand and took his.

"No. It is about power." He squeezed my hand gently. "These duties of mine are not just ceremonial." He stared down at our hands a moment, then brought his blazing blue eyes back to mine. "If someone began to act in the stead of your President, openly displacing him, you would find that more than offensive, would you not? You would find it threatening?" After a few blinks, I realized he meant the American president. Since vamps couldn't vote, I guess it made sense to say the President was "mine." And, of course, they all held true to that secret monarchy business, which I guess nobody told George Washington about.

"Yes, sure."

"That is what is happening here. Someone is acting in my stead." He frowned. "At the same time, someone is seeking to distract and disable me and mine. Someone desires me weak, while improving his or her own stance." Again, I felt his hand tighten around mine.

"Invasion," I whispered back. He closed his eyes and gave a short nod.

"Something like that." His jaw pushed forward. "It will not take place."

"Of course." I put down my Coke and rubbed his hands between my own. I remembered the awful time of the Vegas take-over, recalled how tense he'd been as we'd waited for news of Fangtasia, how much I'd wanted just to hug him and hope to give him some comfort. Still holding his hands between my own, I scooted my chair closer, to lean into him. His breath moved my hair as he turned into me, rubbing his cheek against mine.

"We will win."

"Yes," I whispered.

"Do not worry for yourself."

I closed my eyes to feel him brushing against me like a great big jungle cat rubbing up around his trainer. "I'm not worried about me."

He seemed to draw in a deep breath, as if inhaling my scent, then brushed his lips against my forehead once more.

"We will finish this tonight and make our plans." He patted my hand and turned to his phone. A second later, Bill and Pam came back in. Neither commented on their summary exile. I glanced over at Eric and realized why. There was no playful spark in his face, nothing warm and inviting at all. His back was stiff, his shoulders square, and his jaw was locked in command. When he spoke, it was to order, not discuss, I realized.

"I agree with Sookie; we must learn more about Victor. If that involves pursuing him to this dance club, so be it."

His eyes swept the room. "I cannot go, not at present. I must consider this." He frowned. "Pam will stay out of this. I want you to keep the base." This, I gathered, meant attending to Fangtasia. Unless there was some other vamp HQ I hadn't been to yet, but I thought not.

"So it will be Sookie, then," Pam said quietly. Bill's whole body locked up in silent protest.

"No, it will not be." Eric's eyes slid over towards me. Oh, crud. _Now_ the spark was back in his eye? What was he up to?

"It will be Bill," he said with great satisfaction.

_AN: I thank you for your thoughts, as always! _


	60. Chapter 60

"I agree with Sookie; we must learn more about Victor. If that involves pursuing him to this dance club, so be it."

His eyes swept the room. "I cannot go, not at present. I must consider this." He frowned. "Pam will stay out of this. I want you to keep the base." This, I gathered, meant attending to Fangtasia. Unless there was some other vamp HQ I hadn't been to yet, but I thought not.

"So it will be Sookie, then," Pam said quietly. Bill's whole body locked up in silent protest.

"No, it will not be." Eric's eyes slid over towards me. Oh, crud. _Now_ the spark was back in his eye? What was he up to?

"It will be Bill," he said with great satisfaction.

There was a long pause.

Pam finally broke it. "Oh, this is going to be rich."

Pam clearly should've been involved in Middle-East peace treaties. She's the soul of tact.

"Mock all you want," Bill told her, with studied dignity. "I will complete my mission." He might've had my sympathy, but he kept on talking. "I will do anything to keep…those I care for safe."

Oh, hell.

Pam snickered out right, then turned to Eric. "Will he dance? I'd love to see that. May I go?"

That apparently broke Bill's reserve. "Oh, grow up!"

Eric had been sitting there, watching the reactions to the bomb he'd thrown (except for mine; he didn't look me in the eye.) "Silence." He drew his phone over and tapped in a number on a card in front of him.

He'd set it on speaker phone, so we all heard what was said.

"I'm in the middle of a fucking show. Unless you are calling to suck my—"

"This is Eric Northman."

"OH! Well, hello to you, too, friend. Claude Crane, at your service." Pam grinned over at me and I rolled my eyes.

"Good evening." Eric pointed out politely that we were on speakerphone, although I doubted Claude could tell that, from the loud music in Hooligan's.

"Crane, Bill Compton is coming to your Thursday night show. I want you to ensure he has whatever he needs."

"Oh. Sure." Claude sounded less than enthused. Actually, he sounded downright sulky. "I'd rather give _you _whatever you need."

That did it. My head was throbbing, Bill was being…Bill, and I was just done with it all. Before I could think, the words were flying out of my mouth. "Claude Crane! I cannot believe you are hitting on my boyfriend, with me right here!"

Did I say that? Beside me, Pam's face lit up like she'd just won the keys to all of the New Orleans blood banks. I studiously avoided looking at either Eric or Bill's faces.

"Can't blame a man for trying," Claude muttered. Eric ignored that; he just started spitting out orders for Claude not to get in Bill's way when he came the next night to look things over.

He lifted his head to watch us all as he set the phone back down. "Very well; it is done. You will find out what is going on there."

Bill met his gaze without blinking. "It will be done."

Eric stared back, focusing just on my ex. "Be ready. My sources tell me Victor may be having financial issues." Both Bill and Pam reacted; if Pam were a human, I'd say she actually gasped.

I took a swig of my Coke and tried not to roll my eyes. Truth is, what had been happening to a lot of humans over the years---money problems—was finally, thanks to the economic problems out there, coming home to roost in the vamp community. See, vamps are a bit like leprechauns, crossed with a hefty dose of mafia dons. From the minute they're made, they tend to start squirreling away money, and with the years of their existence—and a lot of illegal stuff, no doubt about it—they tend to all have a good size of money on their hands, even if they didn't flaunt it. Only the newest vamps could possibly be seen as poor; for any vamp who'd been around for more than a few years, money was just expected. And with all of that money, what do vamps do? They invest in businesses, in stocks, in big companies—you know, the things you see folding right and left in the papers nowadays. It was causing a huge fuss in the vamp community, because more than a few of their members had found themselves in the impoverished, unthinkable state of newborns, thanks to the economic downturn. There had actually been a few vamps who had met the sun, rather deal with the shame of creditors.

I sniffled over my Coke, remembering the time I'd seen someone choose to meet the sun. That's not the way I'd go, but it definitely seemed wrong for a person (vamp or not) to leave the world just for money problems. No matter how bad it ever got me for me, I vowed to myself, I'd never choose that way.

But that made me return to my thought—a poor vamp is a desperate vamp. And Victor, second in command to the king of Nevada, _poor_? The idea was laughable. And curious. Why wasn't he making new money, to replace the old? What had happened? And, above all, the idea was horrifying. To deal with Victor in such a situation—well, that'd be like walking into the den of a lion who had been starving for a few days. Bill wouldn't be going into Claude's club and just getting an eyeful; he could really be risking his life.

My big mouth opened before I could stop it. "I want to go."

All the vamps looked at me again; Pam and Eric were glaring, but Bill was smiling.

"I want to go." When you've already inserted your toes into your mouth, you might as well go all the way. "It's not that big a deal. I won't do anything. I'll take Amelia, or Pam here—"

"Why me? I certainly do not want what they have."

"—and just sit at a girls' table for a bit and see if I hear anything. That's all." I tried to catch Eric's eye. "Promise." He still looked stormy. "It's my cousin's club, for heaven's sake—you really think he'd let me go to harm?"

Pam snorted something I couldn't catch and Eric just looked really irritated. "Victor would recognize you—"

"Of course he would. And what could he say? It's a public bar, and it's hardly surprising I'd be there." Eric's face was a portrait of outrage. "I mean, since most of the clients are women my age, just girls hanging out. Not because of any personal problems." I tried to rub his ankle with my own subtly, out of range of Bill's eyes. He didn't seem to see it, but I saw Pam sure grin as she looked away.

Eric frowned, but he didn't shoot me down. "I will consider this." His tone made it really clear he wasn't going to listen to appeals, so I didn't push him further.

I was starting to rub my forehead again, so Eric dismissed the others and suggested we head on home. It wasn't for the reasons you'd think; even though Eric didn't need sleep, he seemed to grasp that I, at least, had been deprived of a _lot_ of sleep in the past couple of days. For completely wonderful other activities, I grant you, but my body needed rest (in both senses.) Eric didn't even try to lure me into bed when we got to the house; instead, he just suggested we watch some TV before I, at least, went to sleep. Although, to be fair, he hadn't suddenly become a church boy--he also did sit right down next to me on the couch, and had no aversion when I curled up alongside of him.

"You will find nothing on at this time," he advised me as I flipped through the TV channels. He reached to the top of the couch to pull something down—ahh, a blanket. And from the look of it, brand-new. I made no comment on its too-sharp-to-be-old creases, instead tucking the blanket over his lap as well as mine.

"We might as well watch a movie," he added, waving to his wall of DVDs.

"I'm not watching _Lord of the Rings_ again," I muttered. It wasn't a random complaint. You know how guys love specific action movies? Like Jason watched _Die Hard_ about a dozen times last Christmas? Well, this was Eric's version of an action movie, and he loved it to bits. When he was back in his office at Fangtasia, he even had it playing on loop at time. Once, Pam had even bribed (that is, I was willing to bet, threatened) the Toys R Us in the shopping strip with Fangtasia, and they'd sent over a couple action figures as a good-will/please-don't-drain-the-children gesture. The little figures were now usually on Eric's desk, supposedly because Eric said he'd "throw them out later," but somehow he'd never gotten around to it.

"Mmm, look, a video actually on TV," I murmured, mostly to myself. I had my doubts Eric was aware of MTV's changes. I bopped my head a little in anticipation of the music; it was by some crazy lady who did a catchy dance song on the radio. (I knew it well, since Amelia had caught me singing along while vacuuming the other day.) The action of the video began with the singer and her boyfriend. "Wow, this is getting racy. Let's keep flipping."

A white hand snatched the remote from my grip. "Racy, you say? I approve."

"Eric!" But I giggled, I admit it. And I ogled, too, as the singer's boyfriend really was quite attractive.

"Mmmm…You need to get pants like that." They sure did fit the boyfriend well, I noticed, and tilted my head for the best view.

"You are enjoying this too much," he said suddenly. "And she is not naked…yet." There was a distinctly hopeful note in his voice, as the singer's wardrobe changed again.

"Okay, enough of that, buddy. Keep changing, please."

"You are so cruel." He heaved a sigh and the channels on the TV began moving again. After much debate, we settled on a reality dance program. I liked the dancing; Eric liked the snug outfits for the women.

"Women should dress like this all of the time!"

"I don't think you mean that. Some of my customers do, and trust me, it's not pretty." I elbowed him a little. "You just like the perfect bodies some of those girls have."

"They have beautiful bodies." Shame and Eric had never met. "But none of them have the glorious bounty that you possess, my lover," he informed me, looking down into my face.

"I am so flattered," I grumbled, but I let him sneak in a feel, just because it made me feel reassuringly sexy again.

The dancers auditioning were doing a rock number now, and it made me remember the times I'd been dancing at Fangtasia with Eric, and just Fangtasia's ambience as a whole. And that made me think, in turn, to that very first time I'd walked into that bar, when I thought it was possibly the tackiest and scariest place in the world. Seeing Eric there, clad in leather pants and a leather vest, hadn't changed my mind. I'd thought of him as Eric the Hunk then, and I knew little about him other than he was gorgeous and interested in me. Too interested.

"Can I ask you a question?" I waited for him to make the obvious comment, that I'd already asked him a question, but he just rubbed my side absently.

"Of course."

"When I first came into Fangtasia—you know, that first night, with Bill—what were you trying to glamour me into doing?"

"Me, glamour you? But that would not be right." I turned my face up to see him. Eric was staring straight at the TV, but the side of his mouth I could see was tucked firmly upwards.

"Yeah, right, my ass." He released a laugh as I slapped his arm. "You were too trying to glamour me. What was it? I always wanted to know."

"I merely wanted you to come talk to me, nothing more than that." But he was smiling that same canary-fed grin.

"Right. And why is that? Were you lonesome up there in your big vamp chair?"

"Terribly." His fingers had rolled up the side of my shirt and were stroking my bare skin.

I pushed at them. "Eric, really—tell me."

The fingers stilled, so I turned to look up at him again. "I wanted you to speak with me again. And I wanted you." The fingers curved around my waist, squeezing gently. "You were cute. I liked your dress."

"You liked my boobs in my dress, you mean. You talked to them most of the time, as I recall. I'm not sure you knew I had eyes."

He roared a laugh again. "That, too." His eyebrows wiggled. "But what man could resist those?"

"Silly." I slid my hand down my side so our fingers could twine together. "Was that your normal way of hitting on people? Glamoring them?" We both knew Eric would more likely resort to glamoring to get women to leave him alone; he definitely didn't any help in the attractiveness department.

"I never wanted a woman to approach me before, in Fangtasia," he said in a suddenly serious tone. His fingers slid firmly against mine. "You were…you are…unique."

"Because of the fairy blood." Yes, I was bitter, but I couldn't help myself. I'm always "unique" for the wrong reasons—dead parents, my little curse, and now fae in my blood.

"No." With his free hand, he turned my chin back to him and shifted so he could look right down into my eyes. "Because you were meant to be mine." Eric's thumb pulled my mouth open gently. He leaned down and slid his open mouth slowly, sensually against mine. I don't know what his tongue was doing, but it was doing good, good things to me; my toes curled beneath the blanket.

"Oh, brother," I whispered when he pulled back a fraction.

Instead, he smirked and his fingers stroked my face. "That is how I felt, when I met you. A little trouble magnet, right in my bar."

"You just like the action moments." I pouted.

"No," he said again, in that tone that wasn't quite as playful as his other words. He seemed to be looking at the TV, but I could tell from his eyes that he wasn't seeing anything on the screen. "Hot Rain chose his revenge well."

"Ahh." I didn't know what to say, but I squeezed Eric's hand, and felt him squeeze mine back.

"Well, umm, without a friend like me, who'd watch _Buffy _with you, right?"

"Sookie." His voice was far too sharp-edged now—sharp and straight as a sword. "I sense bullshit here."

"What, it was a joke—"

"I see you are still running." His hand lifted from mine to the side of the couch—seemingly just to stretch his arm muscles, but I felt bereft, anyway. "Very well, lover."

"I'm just tired." He made a noise of derision, but I guess I earned that. "I think I might go to bed now."

"Then we will both retire." In a second, he'd flicked the lights and television off, and we stood in darkness, the only light a flicker from a street lamp far away.

"Oh!" I turned to grab his arm, but he'd already stood, disappearing into the dark, damn him. I groped around, feeling my leg bump the coffee table (full of _Maxim _and similar magazines, I remembered irritably.)

"Eric, I need you, damn it!"

I barely had time to exclaim before I was in the air, lifted up in his arms against his chest.

"Finally realizing that, are you?"

I froze in his arms, suddenly aware. Part of me wanted to call him a silly ass for that stunt. But part of me—a very large part of me--didn't. I burrowed my face into his neck, inhaling his scent, and tried to fight back that wild, bubbling sensation that made me feel like a human champagne bottle—tonight, one near to exploding.

_Oh, hell. _

"Maybe," I whispered into the skin of his neck.

He paused by the stairs. "Maybe?"

"Maybe," I whispered back.

His arms tightened around me, but he said nothing. He carried me into the darkened bedroom, placing me on the bed and pulling the blankets up for me. Then he braced himself over me, briefly, his eyes glittering in the lightless room. I ran my hands up the powerful forearms, across the stone-like shoulders, and to the firm line of his jaw, which tilted into my hand like a cat to be stroked.

"You are my woman, Sookie Stackhouse." His voice, thick with satisfaction, wrapped around me. Then he bent his head. His lips, supple of skin and leisurely in fashion, explored mine, creating little shivering ripples up and down my body, before he slid back and lay next to me. "Go to sleep now, my lover."

"Like I could sleep after that!" I grumbled, and he laughed, his big booming laugh that made his gorgeous chest shake.

When he finished, he pulled me to him. "Hush now and rest." His voice dropped another intimate note. "I will ravish you in your dreams."

I did, and he did.

"I'm so glad you called," Amelia exclaimed as we walked up to the front of Hooligan's. "I needed to get out."

We'd met up at Fangtasia. After a lot of arguing, Eric had finally agreed not to throw a hissy if I went to Hooligan's, too. (In reality, it just meant getting the hissy out of the way beforehand rather than afterwards, but I had made a promise to talk to him about these things, and I meant to keep my promise.) We agreed to a few rules: I was not to make contact with Victor, if he was indeed there; I had to go with at least 3 female companions (he wanted me to go with Pam but I won that round, saying I wasn't going to be babysat); if there was trouble, I should turn to Bill and "those who are allies" (to me that was an obvious rule, so I agreed readily); and last but not least, I was to remember the face of any man who touched me, so Eric could break every limb in his body.

Even though I pointed out to Eric that Claude tended to hire potential boyfriend material—that is, gay men—Eric apparently wasn't pacified. Or he felt my attractions were just too much for any man, I don't know. Either way, I thought he was being ridiculous, but at least he didn't insist on coming along. (He had contemplated it, but Pam pointed out that even if he disguised his face, his body was not disguisable. I wasn't too keen on thinking that all of Louisiana could identify his body, but at least it made him agree to stay home and stay clothed.)

We passed the doorman (wearing a very short and partly unbuttoned delivery man uniform) and entered Hooligan's. I heard the club before I even got all the way in—booming music, in this case, "I'm Too Sexy." It was, like Fangtasia, more about the money reaped by the owner than the joy of décor. There was a t-shaped stage, and circular tables around the room. Arlene and Tara had already secured our table, right up by the stage. Lucky me.

"I didn't know your cousin owned this place—you're so lucky," Arlene exclaimed, as we took our seats.

Tara was more interested in checking out the doorman; I could hear her speculating with Amelia about packages. Not of the boxed kind, I gathered.

I tilted my head to look around more and heard Arlene take in a breath. Her hand, with dark purple nails, clapped on my arm. "Don't you look, Sookie." She leaned right in to talk to me, her smoker's breath heavy on my face. "You were too good for that deader, anyway, and now we know just how messed up he is. Lord!" She needed a second to regain her composure, it seemed. I tried and failed to peer around the bright red wall of her hair. "Now he's twice damned, I tell you."

I wanted to say a few sharp things about Arlene's idea of damnation (given she was in the bar, too), but that was beside the point. She released my hand, thankfully, and now I could see what she was talking about. A bunch of vamps had entered the bar and were taking up spots around the room. I saw Felicia, the Fangtasia bartender; she gave me the tiniest of nods. I also saw a bored-looking Indira, who was trying to see just how deeply she could stab her table with the bread knife. Neither, I would bet money, were regular customers. I'd be willing to bet a lot, in fact, they'd developed a sudden desire to go to Hooligan's after Eric had a "chat" with them. Which would explain why both were watching me with unblinking, blank expressions.

I sighed and stared at the strawberry daiquiri a man in Chippendale tights and tie slid in front of me. It wasn't as if I were here to relax, after all. _Keep your focus up, girl_. I inhaled deliberately and took a lengthy scan of the room again.

This time, he caught my eye—shining out against the area around him, just like he had that first time in Merlotte's. Only this time Bill was taking a seat at one of the tables across the room, toward the front and—and—

He was wearing leather pants?

Amelia had to start slapping me on the back, as I coughed desperately for air. "Thanks, thanks, I'm okay." My eyes were still on him, though. Eric _had_ to have dressed him. There's no way in hell Bill Compton, my ex, even had a pair of leather pants. Oh, yes. This had to be the work of Eric—Eric, who thought "queens" dressed in spandex tights and tank tops.

If Bill felt embarrassed, he didn't show it. He was wearing a gray shirt, much like his beloved Henley's, but it hugged his body a little more than Bill normally liked. And his pants, well—they fit him really nice.

Not that I was looking, I reminded myself.

"Well, he might be gay now, but I can see what caught your eye," Arlene yelled into my ear. "Shame that he's damned to hellfire."

"Shame, yes." I sipped my daiquiri and saw Bill nod to me.

"Should I tell Eric Bill's noticed you?" Amelia's elbow nudged me. She knew we were here for a reason, unlike the others. (Well, knowing Tara, she probably suspected, but was smart enough not to ask.)

"Not a good idea." But Bill's polite nod at me was more than a polite nod, I realized; he'd tilted his head slightly to the side. I followed the direction of his tilt and gulped down a large amount of my drink at once, to keep myself from yelling out.

There was a niche behind Bill. It was hard to see, because it was framed by long drapes and positioned in semi-darkness. But there was a definite spot for a private table, and in it, I could see a white face. Too-white, whiter than bone—a vampire there, definitely. I sought out Bill's face again desperately and he did that tiny nod again. To the outside world, if you even saw the gesture, it'd just be him acknowledging me—but if you were me, and you could feel the very sparkle in Bill's eye, you'd know what he meant. _Paydirt_.

It was Victor.

The announcer was booming an intro, and down the aisle of the stage came a few guys—some kind of uniform theme, as police, fire, and soldier uniforms hit the floor to the tune of "It's Getting Hot in Here." I was having a hard time focusing on my job, I'll admit, but Amelia definitely wasn't helping—she was whooping and hollering next to me, right along with Arlene and Tara. (Tara in particular was throwing bills at the dancers, who rewarded her by plucking the sides of their thongs, showing off a bit more than I was comfortable with seeing. Part of me wondered if JB knew this was where their paychecks were going; the other part of me figured Tara deserved it, for dealing with his brainless beauty.)

"That's my new boyfriend," Arlene told me, waving at one. "See him looking?"

"Right." The fire fighter was demonstrating his skills in putting out fires, I guessed, from his gestures. At least, that's what I hope that meant. I took another gulp of my drink.

"He's definitely got an eye on you," I yelled back into Arlene's ear. I'd have to talk to my pastor lately, to see if I was a bad Christian for that or not.

A new trio of dancers came out, along with a new platter of drinks. Eric had told me our drinks would be covered. (This had led to another argument, until he told me Claude was offered to pay for them, doing a favor for my grandfather Niall. While I had my doubts that my grandfather would actually pay for a trip to a male strip bar, he did have a bizarre sense of gifts—he was not the kind of dear sweet grandpa who sent cards, candy, and ugly sweaters.)

"This one's for Sookie!" Amelia and Tara, both laughing themselves silly, stood up and started waving money at one of the dancers. I wanted to hide in my drink (and I did take a healthy gulp of my now gin-and-tonic, for courage), but there was no getting away. Standing right next to me, peeling off furs to some heavy metal song that screamed about wanting to, well, mate like an animal—was—I grabbed my drink for another swig—a Viking.

It wasn't Eric; my body knew that right away. It was a nicely built guy who was just a bit taller than me and who came clad in furs and a silly bestial hat with horns. Tara and Amelia were nearly crying onto the table as the warrior, positioning himself right next to me, shook what his momma gave him. (And she'd given him plenty, too.) He actually wasn't that bad a dancer, I noticed (once I got past the fact he was down to his G-string now).

"Dance with me, sexy lady," he said, and tugged my hand to bring me to my feet. He started grinding down my side and I was a bit afraid to move, lest I bump more than his legs. "Give me a dollar and I'll let you have a look," he shouted above the music.

"I got it right here!" Tara screamed, digging in her purse.

"Private dance NOW, human!" My warrior spun away to shimmy up against—Felicia? She looked about as thrilled as you might putting mail into a mailbox, but the glazed-eye warrior surely didn't care.

"Well, that was rude!" Arlene huffed as I sat gladly back down. "Can't she get her own?"

"I think she got what she wanted," I said vaguely, taking a chance to glance across the room. Bill was watching the dancers by his table—in front of the viewer's niche—closely, I saw. He was also—

"Jesus Christ, shepherd of Judaea!"

Fortunately, the music, now booming a slinky George Michaels song, was louder than my exclamation. Only Amelia heard me, and she just yelled back, "Give me a break, the mailman doesn't have _that_ great a body—"

I wasn't watching the stage. I was watching Bill lick his lips, his beautiful dark eyes following the male dancers in front of him. I was watching his lips curve into one of his rare smiles, for one of the dancers. (A well-built young fellow who was sporting little more than a cowboy hat.) I was staring as my ex shifted his leather-clad legs, passed a bill to that dancer, and gave a smoldering look as the dancer's string flashed downward briefly.

I lunged for my drink and took it in one gulp.

_Help me, Father, I am a bad, bad Christian._

"Lord have mercy!" Arlene breathed next to me.

_AN: Thanks for all of your thoughts! _


	61. Chapter 61

I wasn't watching the stage. I was watching Bill lick his lips, his beautiful dark eyes following the male dancers in front of him. I was watching his lips curve into one of his rare smiles, for one of the dancers. (A well-built young fellow who was sporting little more than a cowboy hat.) I was staring as my ex shifted his leather-clad legs, passed a bill to that dancer, and gave a smoldering look as the dancer's string flashed downward briefly.

I lunged for my drink and took it in one gulp.

_Help me, Father, I am a bad, bad Christian._

"Lord have mercy!" Arlene breathed next to me.

"Shit!" I spat out, dropping my drink. It wasn't because of Bill this time, but another dancer had just caught me about the waist and was apparently trying to impregnate my backside. Or at least that's what it felt like, given the thump of his groin into my butt. I was so taken off-guard that I let my shields down momentarily—

_At least this one's got a decent ass. Just keep thinking of graduating without student loans. Can't believe I already have a freaking book review due Friday. But I at least I won't graduate with 30k in loans. That's what it's all about, baby. Maybe I can interest a few of these chicks in an all-nude show later—they've got money—and OH SHIT, THAT BITCH HAS A KNIFE!—_

I wheeled around to look over my shoulder at Indira, fangs out and butter knife drawn, making wild slashing motions. For some inexplicable reason, nobody seemed to want to dance next to her, and she was advancing rapidly upon us, eyes red with rage.

"My name is Bobbitt, mortal!" she spat.

My little impromptu dance stopped cold. I didn't have to thank the student-dancer for the (unexpected) dance; he'd already fled.

"Thanks, Indira, " I grunted and resumed my seat. Tara slid over her gin-and-tonic for me.

"You need it more than I do," she said.

I guess she'd noticed Bill, too.

Arlene leaned into me. "So, was he aroused?"

"What?"

"You know—when he was rubbing on you—did you feel _it_—"

I didn't have the energy to tell Arlene I was feeling more the force of gravity, and I sincerely doubted any of these dancers experienced _that _while performing. She wouldn't believe that just because you worked in an ice cream store, no matter what your flavor preference, you might get a bit tired of the sundaes.

I felt a sudden wave of fatigue and gulped at the drink. What was I here for, again? There was Bill doing…whatever he was doing (I couldn't look without thinking of bad things), and here I was surrounded by Tara (whooping at a football player, to show her his "tight end"), Amelia (last seen dancing with a few other girls, vamp and human alike, and one pretty-much-naked guy), and Arlene (alternately asking for Jesus' mercy and screaming, "TAKE IT OFF, WHIP IT OUT, JESUS LOVES ALL OF YOU" at confused-looking dancers.

"Quit looking like that! You've only got to be away from Hot Stuff for a few others and I'm sure he'd dance for you if you asked."

Amelia tugged me out of my seat and I joined the group of boogying females. I may not be ready for that reality dance show yet, but I've got to say, I can dance! And I was having a lot of fun, too. I didn't normally go to Hooligan's (it was the kind of place we all used to giggle and dare each other to go, when I was in high school), but it was fun to be there with a bunch of girls and guys who had no interest at all in me sexually—no worry about being hit on. The only vamp who could might have a snit about my "shaking my assets" wasn't even there—and the only guy who might otherwise disapprove, Bill, definitely wasn't in any position to criticize me.

It didn't hurt, either, that Tara and Amelia kept passing me drinks.

So I had a few shots. (Although none were body shots. Arlene and Amelia did a few off a little sailor who was wiling to let all set sail, so to speak, but Tara backed me up when I said I wasn't drinking anything off a stranger's body. The poor stripper at least wasn't offended—he was just worried about Arlene's smoker breath.)

"If Sam could see us now!" Arlene brayed.

"He'd just about howl with shock!" Amelia roared, winking at me.

"Y'all keep talking like that and I'll have to get drunk just to deal with the stupidity," Tara groused.

Well, nature was calling, and it wasn't Sam for once. I headed off to the ladies' room, and if I stumbled a little, it was because it was dark and I wasn't used to the layout of Hooligan's, not for any other reason you might be thinking of. The place had terrible signage; I made a note to tell Claude to fix that later. In any serving place, easy access to the restroom is essential.

Ahead of me, I saw a woman walking and decided to follow her. Only one reason a girl is wandering around a back area of a male strip bar, right? She turned into a room and I walked in after her—

Oh, hell. I blinked; the room was lit only by the glare of street lamps outside, glinting through the window. It was a supply room of some kind, definitely not the ladies.

Well, that'd be a problem, and an embarrassing one, too. Unfortunately, I had another problem besides a full bladder. There was a reason the girl ahead of me wasn't going to the bathroom.

She was a vampire, and she was Evie.

"It's you," she hissed.

"Nice to meet you?" Southern manners fell hard.

She prowled around the perimeter around the room, around the shelving; not surprisingly, I kept my distance. "You are the Sheriff's telepath. You were with that bitch Pam."

I guess Pam had a reputation by now. But then again, she did manage to slug Evie in the middle of a Beyonce song.

She cocked her head at me. "What are you after, telepath? You are poking your nose where it doesn't belong."

This sounded all-too-familiar, and all-too-annoying. "In some stripper's outfit? Didn't know you had a previous claim," I shot back.

She stared at me; all I could see was the whites of her eyes. "Shut up, human. Shut up and get out of our way."

Since she was standing near the door by now, that didn't make sense. "It'd be easy if you'd get out of my way. I'm kind of on the way to the ladies'."

Gran had always told me not to sass people. Why didn't I listen? Evie glared at me. "I'll drain you, bitch. I'll drain you, bury you, and fuck the Sheriff right over your body."

Gran had also told me my temper was no better than Jason's. Once again, she was right. "All right, that's IT." I was too angry to think about Felicia, Bill, or Indira; I just remembered her grinding on Eric and I wanted to do something to hurt her.

The thought of Indira made my hands twitch. "I'm giving you one warning, Evie. Back off or I'm going to kill you." I felt like Luke Skywalker giving Jabba a warning.

And this Jabba—complete with bad dye job—took it with the same amusement. "You're going to kill me, flea?"

"Yes." I kept circling the room, keeping maximum distance from her. "I'm going to kill you and then Pam's going to be awful happy not to have to worry about your fake nails."

She growled again at me. I thrust up my hand, complete with my bracelets (mixed metal, but I hoped in the dark Evie wouldn't want to take a chance), to give her the bird; my other hand, down at my side, latched onto a bread knife that I really hoped was made of real silver. Evie reared back cautiously.

The door flopped open and we both jumped.

"Oh!" the newcomer gasped. "Please do not kill me, mistress!"

She wasn't talking to Evie.

"Pam said you would strike again, and she was right!" Felicia continued to look at me in horror.

Evie looked between us in confusion and apparently gave up; she shoved Felicia to the side and ran out the door.

I considered putting down the knife but held it carefully nonetheless. Felicia was too rattled for me to talk her down just now, and my own nerves (plus alcohol) were going wild. "I'll tell you what—you make sure that vamp is gone, and we can talk."

She vanished, bless her, and I raced to the ladies' (when you've got to go, you've _still _got to go), and then hustled back to the dance floor, my heart bursting. I threw myself down at the table and grabbed the margarita sitting there. It was probably Arlene's, but I just didn't care. All I knew was if I didn't get control of myself and relax, I was going to lose it right there.

"Jason ought to get a job here," Tara yelled into my ear.

"Not if I'm ever here!" I shot back, and she laughed.

Amelia was still dancing, so I couldn't tell her about my run-in. I did see a white-faced Felicia and Indira both nodding to me in a subservient manner, so I gathered they'd seen Evie leave or was sure she was gone. I took a deep breath.

_Think, Stackhouse. Don't screw this up. We already know something's going on, because Evie was here, and so is Victor. _

I tilted my head to view the area where Bill sat and Victor was secreted in the niche behind him. Bill seemed completely intent on the two greased-down dancers who were winding against each other, dressed in nothing but—I squinted—and winced, from the pounding music about love games—and--

"Oh, my Lord, they've got socks on their _things!_" Arlene squealed next to me.

Well, whatever they were wearing, there were no straps involved. And one of the dancers was kneeling and rubbing his face—and—I lunged for the fresh gin-and-tonic the waiter slid in front of me.

"Lord Jesus, I didn't know men could do that," Arlene was saying. "Maybe we should allow 'em to marry if they can do _that_."

I didn't look; I just tossed back the drink and stood, shakily. "I'm just going to take a walk, I think."

"Oh, sure," she said sympathetically, but I knew she wasn't looking at me. What straight woman, or gay man, in the room was?

It was my time. I prayed—not to Jesus, because I didn't think the Lord wanted to look in here just as this moment, but that Claudine was with me in spirit and could keep us all safe and well. Which was very important, given that I was stumbling more than I should have, and I was suddenly counting the number of drinks I'd thrown back tonight. I was Jason Stackhouse's sister; I should be okay—right?

"Oh, sorry!" I squeaked, stubbing my toe on somebody's chair.

Well, it could've been worse, I reminded myself. I edged my way around the room, well aware that 1.) I'd probably had a little more than I should have—okay, a _lot_; and 2.) the situation was precarious. _If _Victor was still in that booth, did it really mean anything other than that he liked to watch naked guys?

Carefully, I focused on the half-cloaked table. I could feel a vampire's space there, that distinctive, blissful quiet that I found only when a vamp was there. And I found a human. I ground my teeth impatiently; it was just a dancer, apparently hoping to score big if he flashed Victor a few times during a private dance. He was thinking that security wasn't high at Claude's club, and Claude didn't care if the dancers made more money by showing more than the law allowed. He was also thinking he should've popped a Viagra before going out on stage.

I shuddered and peeked around me. Bill was still there, giving his mystery smile to the two male dancers now giving each other massages. (I guess you'd call it that.) His head was tilted toward Victor's area, though, so I knew at least part of him was paying attention to what went on there.

I don't know how I saw it—I don't have vamp supersight, and even with Eric's blood, this was a stretch—but I somehow just sensed a muscle in Bill's shoulder jump. And just as reflexively, I swung my attention back to Victor's table.

_Elegant bastard, for all he's taking me for a ride. Knows I come here, uses this as his power base. Don't vampires have any God-damn Starbucks? I'd rather meet there, at least keep fond memories of this place. Kirk is still stacked, as always, love him. And there's sweet little Lance—best dancer ever. Bastard, for making me miss this. Well, well. Wonder how much this leech is going to want now? There's only so much I can give him before the voters get suspicious. A million, in a time of recession? Like I could scare up that money when things were going well! If I call in those favors, cut education's budget—yes, maybe 250k. No more than that. I have to keep a war chest for the governor's campaign. Fuck, he can't kill me, can he? _

"Sexy, you get me hard," crooned a greased-up dancer and I gave a little shriek, bringing my attention abruptly back to my immediate surroundings.

"Let me rub you all over," moaned my newfound friend, who shimmied up next to me, his slicked-up thigh grazing my leg. I was trying to keep my attention on the booth, but it was hard to do with Mr. Overly Friendly next to me.

"YOU! Dance for me, NOW," bellowed a familiar voice over my shoulder. With suddenly blank eyes, Mr. Oily oozed away.

_Bless you, Felicia._ I tried to navigate the crowd—now containing audience and dancers alike—to get nearer the booth. I could hear snatches, in between the blasts of Prince's "Cream," of the human's thoughts, but not enough to make sense of what was going on there.

_Can't believe he's taking me for this—who does he think he is, doesn't he know my name is—_

And because I'm Sookie Stackhouse, you know what I did next.

I fell right into their booth.

I crash-landed half on a little foot-table, half on the floor. It was a good thing I was wearing casual clothing—otherwise, you could be sure my everything would be on display.

Not that this crowd would've much cared.

As I straightened up, wincing, I sputtered apologies—"So sorry, I'll pay, did I splash you"—without thinking. Maybe it was the alcohol, but for whatever reason, I didn't just run.

Stupid, stupid me.

A cool hand took mine, pulling my attention from the table I was attempting to right, and leading me to the half-circle couch. "Why, if it is not the lovely Miss Stackhouse. My dear friend."

Victor pronounced "friend" the way you might pronounce the word "cockroach." Right before you stepped on it.

"Fuck!" His human guest was saying. I'd have glared at him for poor language in front of a lady, but that would require moving my head, and possibly disorientation again. "Madden, you promised me this would be—"

My captor made a brief hissing noise, and the human shut up. "Enough, Mayor. My dear friend here won't remember a thing about this, I promise you." I really hoped that meant he was going to try to glamour me, and not kill me. Between you and me, the whole almost-getting-killed thing was really getting old.

"Miss Stackhouse." Victor's full attention was on me now. "How did you come to find me here?"

I blinked at him. It wasn't too hard to look unfocused and tipsy, all things considered. "Hello?"

"It's Victor, Victor Madden. I am sure you remember me. You've already been following my associate around, I am told." He smiled coolly and cruelly at me. Scared into sobriety, I smiled back as brightly as any maniac.

"Hello? Oh, hey! Thanks for rescuing her!" Amelia, bless her, had bounded up next to me, looping my arm through hers. "She's just had a few—sorry if she's bothering you. Ladies' Night, you know." She started to steer me out of the niche.

"I did not tell you to leave," barked Victor. More gently, he continued, "I am having conversation with Miss Stackhouse. I am surprised her paramour allows her to be here."

"Para-what?" Playing stupid had helped me in the past, so I figured it was a good card to play. From the constant bombardment of thoughts over my life, I knew, unfortunately, it was a card most people would accept. They think just because I'm blond, I tan, and my boobs are above an A cup, I don't have a brain.

Sure enough, Victor regarded me with contempt. "Stop that. You're too valuable to act like an idiot. You're going to tell me what you think you know, little girl." His eyes were beetle-black, staring at me. Frantically, I tried to feel if he was trying to glamour me—maybe I could fake obedience? "And once we're done, then Northman will pay handily for you. Perhaps a whole Area's worth," he added, his tiny fangs peeking out.

"I don't think so," I snarled. What can I say? I was several sheets to the wind by now, and angry. Plus, his bodyguard, a giant thing with tattoos of Madonna and Jesus all over his arms, was currently holding Amelia. I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to accuse him of all kinds of things, even though now I only knew him to be guilty of being in an exotic dancer bar (where I myself was.)

But Victor didn't respond to me. His eyes shot past me. "Compton?"

Bill, my knight in shining leather pants, was standing there. "Madden? Curious, seeing you here."

"I might say the same of you." Victor's tone wasn't as nasty as when he spoke to me, at least—but then his eyes narrowed, darting to me, then Bill. You could almost see him trying to process the information of Bill's presence. You could also almost see the very moment he remembered that I'd been once with Bill. And if we were both there, that meant a Plan.

"Sookie," Bill said guardedly. His head was almost hanging, as if he were ashamed. I blinked. Bill never looked that beaten-down; why was he doing that? What did he want of me? He didn't look that beaten down--not even when—I flinched inside at the memory, but it was useful. Rage, suddenly inspired rage, started to boil over, all across my skin.

"You son of a bitch," I hissed.

"You tell him," Amelia said helpfully.

"I can't _believe_ you!"

"This is all very amusing, but—"

Bill glanced up at me from under dark bangs. His eyes, as always, were unreadable, but I could feel the surge of something there. "Sookie, just because a man has a lapse doesn't mean—"

I almost was enjoying this. It felt a bit like being on one of those Dr. Phil shows, where you got to scream and yell as you liked. And it was a lot more fun than crying around New Orleans with a broken heart, I admit. "Did our relationship mean nothing to you?"

"What the fuck is going on here?" Tara had yanked back the curtain around the niche; Indira and Felicia were standing behind her, I saw. Arlene was there, too—I could see the day-glo orange of her hair there.

Amelia yanked away from her captor. "Sookie's confronting Bill!"

"Oh, yes, girl," Arlene shouted. "But tell him to keep those pants!"

I wasn't the only one who'd had a few.

Because the curtain had been yanked back on this bizarre Oz, and because we were yelling, our conversation wasn't private any more. Some women a table over now turned our way. Amelia filled them in.

"He totally cheated on her, and look, he's jumping men now!"

"Asshole!" "What a dick!" "I can't believe it—he seemed so nice!" "Will he let us watch?"

"How could you?" I burst into tears.

Bill's gaze was stony. "You know I am Vampire, Sookie, and we have needs. Some of them you cannot fulfill."

"Oh, no, he didn't," breathed one of the women.

"You don't cut his dick off, I will," offered another encouragingly.

I tore my hand from a stunned Victor and marched over to Bill. Somewhere, in a land far distant where I was sober, where my heart wasn't going a million miles per hour, I knew Bill was just play-acting. I knew the only relevance of any of this was to get Amelia and myself smoothly away from Victor and his buddies (now apparently including a mayor).

But that was a land far distant. In the nearer place, where I was swaying with booze and anger both, I only knew I was really pissed off and there was only one way to deal with it all.

I hauled off and socked Bill.

He actually staggered back, as if I'd hurt him. The women in the room were screaming as if beating up Bill was some kind of piñata game, and we'd all just hit the candy level. For me, though, it wasn't that happy an event. Suddenly sober, what I had done occurred to me. "Oh, Bill, I'm—" I started to exclaim, but Amelia was on me in a heartbeat, dragging me into the crowd, now packed with squirming, dancing bodies.

"He'll get away, now we get away," she said, very close to my ear.

We ran—I had worn comfortable shoes just for this purpose, but Amelia had made the mistake of heels—and suddenly I was being pitched into a car.

"Where are we going?" I yelled as the engine roared.

"To Fangtasia," said a cool voice.

Amelia giggled next to me and said, in a whisper that made my head hurt, "I think boyfriend's pissed at us now!"

I opened my eyes enough to see the tell-tale shimmer, to feel the warmth of his presence, and to know I was safe, if giddy. And that's where I passed out.

The next thing I knew was the ceiling. It was plain, undecorated, industrial, and I had a hard time focusing on it. The thumping music wasn't helping me, either.

I slid to my side, realizing I was on a couch. A couch in Eric's office. I blinked. I was alone.

A waitress poked her head. "Oh, miss, you're awake. Drink?"

"Gin-and-tonic," I said automatically. She gave me a strange look, but nodded, and returned in a moment with a drink.

"I'll just be telling Master you're up, then…" she said but I ignored her; the music was too loud, I was cold, I was reliving what had just happened, and hell, I just wanted a drink. So I bolted my gin-and-tonic, wondering where Amelia was, where Bill was, where Tara was—hell, where Arlene was.

But those worries went away fast, thanks to the warming rush of the gin-and-tonic. By the time the door opened, my mood had improved tremendously.

"Ooooh, it's my honey. Hi, baby."

He squatted down next to me, a considerable feat, given his height. "How do you feel, Sookie?"

"Just fine, baby."

"I think she feels more than fine," I heard Pam murmur.

Bill's anxious voice drifted down to my ears. "Can we give her some blood? Perhaps that will help? She will feel poorly very soon."

I tried to smile at Bill but couldn't find him. At least he was safe. I couldn't focus, though, and my neck hurt from holding up my head. Was it my ponytail? I reached back to fidget with it and whimpered as my fingers got stuck.

"No," Eric said. His eyes hadn't left my face. His hands brushed mine aside and undid my ponytail carefully. Had he always been that good with hair? "She would not like to get blood for such a thing as this. It is not an emergency."

"I like anything you give me, baby," I purred. Eric's eyebrows leapt up and I giggled.

"I might regret this," he muttered. I snickered again.

I saw Pam's face swim into focus over Eric's shoulder. "Now would be a good time to tell Eric you love him, Sookie."

"Pam!" Both of the men yelled, and it made my head throb. I rubbed my forehead.

" 'Course I love him…I love his ass." I giggled. "It looks so good. You have a great butt, you know that, Eric? I wouldn't mind biting it. I could have breakfast off those buns," I chortled. I gave him my sultriest voice, although it seemed to wobble more than I remembered. "_Hot_ cross buns."

I couldn't tell the emotions sliding across his face. "We can discuss this later, my dear. Rest now."

I pulled his hand down to my boob. "I could have sex with you all night long."

He looked back at Pam—helplessly? I frowned. "Why aren't we having sex? I love having sex with you, honey." When he began rubbing his face with his hands, I reached over to rub his arms. "You said I was the best you'd ever had. Oh, sorry, Pam."

"No offense taken," she said, but it was stiffly.

Bill's nice-fitting pants slid across my vision. "I do not think I should be here for this—I will leave—"

"Don't go," I whined. "You looked awful nice tonight. Doesn't he look nice, Eric?"

My Viking rolled his eyes. "I am sure, Sookie, now close your eyes…"

"But I want to look at him!" I whined again. "He doesn't often wear pants like that. Although his other pants show him off, too, just not his butt." I giggled. "Amelia calls 'em porn pants."

Eric's jaw was coming out. My hand found itself stroking it. "Awww, don't get mad, sweetie. Why don't you both get naked and I'll judge who has the best butt, huh? Or we could all just get friendly…" I tugged at his neckline. "You don't think I'm a slut for suggesting that, huh?" I tried to talk in a whisper, but it seemed to come out really loud, for some reason. "We could flip a coin for sides…" I started giggling uncontrollably. "Head's—or tail's--! Y'know what they say, make love, not war!"

His head whipped to the side, and he spoke in a rattlesnake's hiss. "What the hell did you give her, Compton?"

"I would never give my—if you think I would ever—"

Eric snarled openly. "If youlet any fucking witch or fairy near her—"

"I would never! Like I want her to say such—" Bill seemed at a loss for words.

"If she's having secret fantasies about somebody other than you, I don't see why it's about _Compton…_"

"Pamela, be quiet!" Eric growled.

I lifted my head of the couch. "Are you angry? Are you angry with me?" I couldn't help myself; tears began to pool. "I hate it when you're angry with me."

"Fuck!" Eric hissed again. He cast around frantically for something, then ripped his shirt off and began dabbing it at my face.

"Lover, don't…"

"Lover, lover, lover, that's all you say…_Oh, lover, you're the best, oh, lover, you feel so good, oh, lover, I don't need to wear one, vampires are all sterile and I love the sensations, lover..._Are you just using me for sex?"

"Too late for that now," Pam murmured and I heard Bill say something angrily to her.

"No, darling, now rest." He kissed my forehead gently. "Just close your eyes, lover. I'll be here." He seemed to be pushing his glamour at me; I batted my hand irritably at him and he swore softly. Finally, his big hand eased over my eyes. "Sleep, lover. We'll talk later."

So, for the second time that night—I think—I went to sleep.

_AN: Thanks for your thoughts!_


	62. Chapter 62

_For those wondering: Sookie lists drinking one strawberry daquiri, one margarita, 3 gin and tonics at Hooligan's, "a few shots," and another gin and tonic at Fangtasia. That's just what she bothered to mention! _

_And for those who are enjoying the story, my one ad: When you're out drinking, do as Amelia and Sookie (inadvertently) did, and get a sober driver! (Hopefully, one who is as hot as Eric. ;)_

It was dark. Because my eyelids were closed, of course.

I rolled over and cracked open one eyelid a hair. Something instinctive told me this could be a very painful act, so I did it as slowly as possible.

The room was mostly dark; there was a night-light on, its glimmer soft and gentle. I breathed a sigh of relief. I could deal with that.

I shifted until I was on my back entirely, took in another draw of air, and forced both eyes open.

The room was still mostly dark, but for the night-light. No thunderous pain came to smack my head for being an ass last night. In fact, I felt pretty good, all things considered.

I rolled to my side, to look at Eric, and then, like I was on God's leash, I had a gentle reminder that I didn't feel _that_ good just yet. I closed my eyes and breathed out my mouth. Call me crazy, but I just knew Eric would not appreciate it if I upchucked on him.

A good minute later, I turned myself back to my other side and edged towards the side of the bed. That's when I saw the note propped up on the lamp, and the little bottles there.

The note was from—I squinted at the sheet, and then realized it was a prescription note from that little Dr. Ludwig. "Drink both of these when you wake up. Most of your symptoms will be alleviated. Do not be foolish again." And then, just to show you doctors are the same in all shapes and sizes, she'd scrawled her name, but I couldn't make heads or tails of it.

I gulped down both of the bottles, and saw something else on the note. "Do as the healer says. ~E" on the corner.

"How is it you can leave orders for me even when you're sleeping," I grumbled into the darkness. If Eric could hear me, he wasn't going to object. I felt too guilty for my stupidity the night before, to touch him. (And with this morning breath, I definitely wasn't going to kiss him.) Instead, I made myself keep still and took stock of my body.

Dr. Ludwig was as good as her word—I did feel pretty much okay. No awful headache, for the most part no nausea; my biggest complaint was tiredness and a low-ebb headache that would certainly have been a lot more, were it not for Dr. Ludwig.

_Get a grip, Stackhouse_. Okay, so I was alive and not doing so badly. I got myself cleaned up and hauled my body out to the living room. I groggily shifted myself to Eric's couch. (I was more than willing to go back up to his bedroom, but I wanted to make myself try, at least, to experience the day.) Even though, based on the pressure in my head, it was not a day I really wanted to experience at all.

I took a piece of junk mail (apparently, Eric was offered a lot of credit cards) on the table and used it for my notepad. Maybe I'd had too much, but I still had my memories of Hooligan's. I made myself go through them, jotting down everything I'd thought of importance:

_Evie was there, and thought I was following her. _

Hmmm, that was curious. I tapped my lip. She hadn't been one of the women staring at the stage, as best I could tell—there just wasn't that much room in Hooligan's. "Ask Felicia," I jotted down. Maybe she'd gotten some sense of when/where Evie had left.

_Victor was there._

I bit my lip and stared at the paper. Finally, I sighed and started writing.

_--and I fell on his table, because I was __drunk_ _not well, and he was mad/scary. _

A memory nudged at my brain. Now the memories came faster.

_He'd have taken me/glamored me, if it weren't for Bill. I think he said something about making Eric pay for me? Or that I was of value. ($$ or curse, don't know.)_

Oh, I knew, all right. I just didn't want to write it out. I rubbed the back of my neck.

_He was with some Congressman? Governor? No, a mayor. A mayor—old white man, suit. Gay, I think, too. They meet there. Victor wants $$ from him. Mayor has to comply_

I was starting to get a little hungry, so I carried the impromptu notepad into the kitchen. I wasn't up for a big breakfast today—cereal would have to do. I sat down with my bowl, alternately staring out the window, and considering my notepad. What else was I missing? I blushed, as I looked outside, and my pen moved almost by itself--

_Make sure kitchen is thoroughly cleaned. _

That wasn't quite relevant to the matter at hand, but I wrote it down just to feel productive.

_Bill—pants?! _

That _was_ relevant, but I didn't think it mattered to the Victor situation. Bill was obviously just as clueless about what was going on as I was. Otherwise, his pants weren't on the items to be discussed. Reluctantly, I made myself strike through that item.

"So there we go, I guess. Evie's connected somehow with Victor, and he's running some dirty politics on the side, if what that mayor guy is saying was right." I pushed the pad out to the center of the table, stood, stretched. Eric was asleep, so was Pam—I needed to pass on this news to someone. That left Amelia, for those who might understand.

My phone was in my purse, which I found deposited on that side table in the living room where I normally dropped it off. I sighed and flicked open my cell phone. No emergency messages from Jason, indicating he needed an alibi for going into work late, possible fear of his latest woman turning up pregnant, or, my least favorite, the ramblings he'd leave on my voice mail when he was really drunk—usually all about cleaning up his life and becoming a missionary in "some poor country and shit, like Africa."

Instead of a Jason SOS, though, I just had a text and a voicemail. The text was from Amelia, telling me to call her ASAP. I punched in her number right away.

She was breathless when she came to the phone. "I thought you'd never get up! How are you doing? Did that freaky doctor's stuff work?"

"I guess so." I had my doubts that Dr. Ludwig had given me her fullest-strength medicine, but I had to admit I didn't deserve that treatment for just having too much alcohol. "So, did you get home okay? I'm really sorry, I wasn't any help—look, maybe I can drive over there, pick you up, and we can go to Hooligan's to get your car—"

"No, I don't need that. Your ex in the leather pants took me back home and when I got up this morning, my car was back here." She giggled. "It had to be the most uncomfortable car ride in my life, I have to say. Do you know what kind of shit he plays in the car?"

I remembered the bizarre wailing music Bill liked, as well as the Kenny G CDs he always had stashed under the seat, and shrugged. "I don't need any reminders, thanks. But you're okay, you said?"

"Sure, I'm fine, although both of your boys wanted to kill me last night." When I gasped, she carried on. "Oh, sure. See, after you passed out, Hot Stuff told me if I got sick in his car, it'd be the last time I regurgitated anything in my life. So he was already pretty pissed, even before we got back to Fangtasia. I think he got all fed up about us partying without him, and he was lurking around Hooligan's if things got bad—I tried to ask him and he told me he wasn't discussing his business, and when I asked again, he was going to put his whammy on me. Not _that_ whammy! You know I believe in sisters before misters." I made a noise of understanding. "But I ducked, and told him I'd be quiet if he'd just quit trying the vampire shit, as I don't do that. So that's what we did. And then when we got to Fangtasia—did you know he drives like a _freakin' lunatic_, by the way? I thought for sure we were going to all die on the road—well, you and me, anyway--they wanted to put you away so you could snooze it off a little, and they stashed me in the kitchen, to ask me what was going on. I told them what I could, but you were apparently carrying on in Eric's office, and girl, he went _off_. He was convinced I'd given you something." She snorted, a loud and delicate noise right in my eardrum. "Pam and I both had to ask him why he couldn't just believe you were smashed, and of course Porn Pants wasn't any help. He thinks you're like some delicate fairytale princess, you know. I am surprised he even admitted you'd been drinking at all. At least Hot Stuff believed you'd had a few; he just thought it had to be spiked, to say whatever shit you were saying back there. It really freaked them out, I've got to say. Well, the guys, anyway—Pam was laughing so hard she was crying. Do you know vamps cry bloody tears?"

"Um, well. I am sorry they were rude to you…"

"Don't be! It was hilarious. Eric was trying to bully me to spill about what you'd been drinking and who-all talked to us at the club, and I told him he just isn't that intimidating when I know perfectly well what he sounds like when he's cu-"

"_Amelia Broadway!"_

"Well, old house, thin walls, buddy. And besides, it reminded His Highness that you're my roomie and if he pushed me around any, he'd have to deal with both of us—and by that, I mean, pissing off his girlfriend." You could almost hear the smile in her voice when she said that. "What _were _you saying back there, anyway? He was fit to be tied. He even had Indira and Felicia stationed by the door, and they wouldn't let anybody other than Eric back to see you."

Well, that was something I couldn't quite answer; my memory was pretty blurry of the last minutes of the night. And to be frank, I don't think I really wanted to know, based on what Amelia was saying. Rather than try to re-awaken those memories, I hurried to get Amelia back to the reason I'd originally called, to go over what I'd heard.

"Mmmhmm," she said, as I filled her in on what I'd heard. "Right. Did you happen to get a good look at the guy with Victor?"

Truthfully, I hadn't—at the time, staying alive had been my most important priority. I could almost hear Amelia roll her eyes when I told her so.

"I can't believe you didn't get a good look at him. He was a Mayor, all right. Mayor _Craig—_ring any bells?"

"Oh!" That name sure did ring a _lot_ of bells. Craig was your usual small-town corrupt politician. He was the mayor of Shreveport and had the most awful ads every time there was an election. (In his last ad, he suggested his opponent, a former youth minister, had been in league with Osama bin Laden.) He'd been elected at least three times, and almost every time raised suspicions of votes being bought and that sort of thing. It was said he had aspirations to go higher in politics, Lord help us all. Most recently, Mayor Craig had been the subject of a lot of gossip going around. Supposedly, he'd been in the men's room at a mall and had bumped the foot of a man in the next stall. The man in the next stall was a reporter, who claimed to all that the foot-bumping was some kind of come-on. Mayor Craig had denied this and had even sent experts in to measure the stalls, to show he "had" to bump the journalist's foot just to stand properly. The whole topic had died down abruptly, and most of us assumed money had passed hands—that's how you squelch a juicy story around Bon Temps, anyway. From the press, that is: you'd still hear a lot of guys snickering about "pulling a Craig" when one of their buddies hit the restrooms in Merlotte's.

As for me, I'd never carried either way if Mayor Craig had been making friends or not in that bathroom stall. That was between himself and his Lord, the way I saw it. But it did help me remember the man, and remember all of the _other_ stories about him, the ones that were a lot more troubling than him making a pass at the wrong guy.

Amelia filled in the dots for me. "So we're saying Mayor Craig is getting pumped for money by Victor Madden, even though everybody knows Craig is tight with money and only out for it himself?"

"So it would seem." It would have to be something major, then. Craig's career had suffered a lot, between the non-stop money scandals and now the sex scandal. What could top that? Was he afraid of Victor Madden and the vamps?

"I wonder what would happen if a high-ranking vamp—a _really _high-ranking vamp—misbehaved towards a human. Don't the vampires frown on that, because it's bad for them assimilating?"

"You're asking the wrong person," Amelia shot back. "That's one for Lover Boy, isn't it?"

I agreed to ask Eric and then hurried off the phone, to get to my voicemail.

It was Sam. His message was the essence of Sam—simple, caring, and nosey as hell. "Hey, Sook, this is Sam. Just wanted to make sure you're okay. Arlene said y'all had a hard night. Take it easy."

"Great." Now all of Bon Temps, in other words, had known we were out partying it up at Hooligan's.

I shook my head to get rid of the self-pity. Gran hadn't raised me to sulk around when there was a job to be done. First things first: well, nothing. I did what chores I could find around the house, including scrubbing down the kitchen (thoroughly). And then, because the day was fine as could be, I headed outside to enjoy the sun. I didn't have a bikini here, and I certainly wasn't going to lay out in my underwear (although I'm sure Eric would have appreciated the image), but I would get some sun, and maybe some time to think.

Some to think turned into something else. Dimly, I heard myself snoring; not-so-dimly, I didn't care. My brain was starting to form very nice images indeed. _A white, very white blur crossed my vision and I blinked. There was Eric, in all of his naked glory, in the kitchen with me. My mind caught up with my eyeballs: in all of his naked glory, repeat._

_With difficulty, I kept my eyes steadily above his pectoral muscles. He knew what he was doing, too; he just smiled at me. And slowly, pointedly scratched his upper thigh, just enough to cause my eyes to jerk down—well, to where he might jerk—_okay, snap out of it, Stackhouse!

"_I gather you are feeling well this evening," he said. He was rustling around with something on the counter—the instruction booklet for the washing machine?_

_He caught me looking (at his booklet). "I have not had opportunity to use this before." He began moving dishes into the small dishwasher. I knew better than to point out I could easily hand-wash the dishes. (I also knew better than to point out Eric could hand-wash dishes.) And of course I wasn't going to object at all to the sight of a naked man doing chores. Especially this man, who bent over the dish racks pointedly, and seemed to take (bless his undead heart) ten times the time necessary to put the bowls away. _

"_The living room might be dirty—maybe you should vacuum," I said dreamily. _

"_Oh, yes." He arched his eyebrow at me. "And perhaps I should change the cleaner bag?" _

"Oh, shoot!" My reverie was broken by the vibration of my phone on my belly.

Well, speak of the devil. "Thinking of me?"

"NO. Tanning. Now sleep."

"I will. With you."

He didn't even put his little fangy symbol next to that, so I wasn't sure if that was just Eric being sassy or…something else. I closed the phone and tried to go back to sleep.

But I couldn't. I was restless as a small child waiting for Santa Claus; something just felt _off_.

Like something had happened.

But no matter how much I gnawed my lip, it wasn't coming to me. I finally figured that unless I'd killed somebody, I couldn't have done anything that horrible. (And Lord knows, I'd already crossed that line once, I thought.) I wandered around Eric's house, playing on his computer, catching up on _Days_ (Sami had just married a new vampire fella, and she'd become pregnant against all odds—but then, she was pretty much the most fertile gal in TV), and trying, without success, to relax myself.

By late evening, I was a jittery mess. I nearly jumped out of my skin when Eric brushed past me in the kitchen.

"Miss me, lover?" he said only as he walked by, deliberately moving within my personal space. You could put fifteen people into that room, easily, but he just _had _to breathe down my neck as he passed me. Of course.

"I can't, you won't let me," I pretended to grumble, but my words faltered. That would be because I'd finally gotten an eyeful of Eric's outfit for the night. He was wearing just a vest on top, and tight black leather pants. Let's just say this: Eric surely doesn't believe in VPL.

After a long time—a suspiciously long time--of Eric shifting from side to side, he seemed to decide on what bottle he wanted from the fridge, and he grabbed a TrueBlood. (Eric told me once he didn't have a particular flavor of TrueBlood he preferred; he'd winked and said he just knew a particular human flavor he liked best. Even when I'd said, "Ick," he'd just smiled and licked his lips at me.)

"Are you sure that's not a little fancy?" I managed. As far as I knew, the plan was to go back to Fangtasia, meet with Pam (and maybe Bill), to go over what was discovered the night before. Unless Pam demanded Eric appear half-naked, I didn't see the reason for this get-up.

"Oh, I thought we might sit in the bar later." He leaned back against the counter, casually looping his hands behind his head. The stance made ever muscle in his upper body---abdomen, pectorals, broad shoulders, sculpted arms—leap into definition. "Do you find this objectionable? Does my attire distract you?" Look up the word "smolder" in a dictionary. See that photo? That'd be Eric's expression, right then. You didn't think blue could hold heat until you saw those eyes at their worst.

I sniffed and looked away. "Your outfits aren't any business of mine, you big ass."

"Oh, yes, that reminds me," he drawled, and he started to walk. I had an instinctive desire to run, but I knew fairly well I'd just as easily outrun a panther as Eric on the warpath. He backed me up against the counter, still smiling, and lifted me up on it. My knees opened for him, so he slotted against me; my hands, traitors, slid up his shoulders and to his neck. He didn't kiss me, as I expected—instead, he nuzzled my shoulder and neck. "Reliable sources say you, my dear," and here he opened his mouth to lick delicately at the exposed base of my neck, "rather…" –his lips just barely brushed under my jawline, his cheek ghosted alongside mine—"_love"—_I felt him smile against my ear—"my ass." His big hands, which had been positioned on my hips, slid down just a hair, to give my own rear a little squeeze.

I didn't know what he meant, although he was clearly prodding me about something. And not just what I felt when he shifted against me. "Oh, hush," I muttered into his hair.

"Very well," he murmured back, shifting back. I felt a loss that wasn't just because he was no longer snuggled up against me. His eyes were slightly narrower, searching my face for something. "For now, I will."

With a sharp turn, he walked across the kitchen, leaving me gaping after him, feeling for all the world like a bubble had just broken right in my face. "Eric?"

"Mm?" was the answer I got, as he checked his phone power and snapped it off the cord.

I don't do ignoring games any better than Eric does. I hopped off the counter, sucked up my courage, and did what I'd wanted to do for a very long time: I kissed him.

I kissed him. Because of our height difference (made all the worse because I stupidly wasn't wearing the super-high-heel summer sandals Pam had left for me—now I knew why she'd selected those ankle-breakers), I couldn't just grab his head and yank him down. Not easily, anyway. Instead, I grabbed his open vest, stood up to him, and kissed him right between his chest muscles.

He didn't breathe; of course, he didn't need to. A deer who turns to statue before human eyes is as close to frozen as Eric was, then.

His voice, when it came, was rough, but soft, like the hands that were suddenly at my waist. "To what—to what do I owe the pleasure?"

The words were teasing, but the voice was tense. I didn't get to answer him, though—something caught my eye, in the bright neon of the kitchen. "Honey—you've got a scar—" I stared. Vampires didn't get scars. They healed right away. I saw it happen time and time again. But there, right under Eric's nipple, was a faint little scar.

"Some marks are permanent," he said quietly. I could feel him looking at me, as I looked at that mark on his chest and remembered just how he got it. And what it meant. I raised my eyes slowly to his; they weren't, for once, smoldering. They were just simply beautiful, shining at me.

"Lover," he said quietly, raising his hand to cup my cheek. I stood on trembling tip-toe to help him bend his head down to me, to bring our lips softly together, to feel the cry bubbling up within me as I brought my arms up around his—

--and to feel him curse violently when the phone on the table next to us went off.

His lips hurried across my face, wet from sudden tears. "Sookie, I must—"

"I know—"

He grabbed the phone with a snarl, while I dabbed at my face with my t-shirt. "What? Yes, coming." He hissed. "Not the time, Child."

I heard the phone click quietly on the table again. I didn't dare look at him—if I did, well, Lord knows what would happen.

"So, gotta go, huh?"

"We must, yes," he said, in tones you might whisper across a pillow, in the smallest hours of the night. I could feel his eyes, lasers on the back I turned to him. "But we _will _settle this later, lover."

Before he could touch me—because I could feel very well his intent there—I hurried out of the room, feeling like a coward every step of the way.

"I see Sookie is still with us. How delightful." Pam met us at the door. She's not the type to hop from foot to foot—no vampire is, except maybe Bubba when he's near a shelter—but she certainly seemed energetic as she shifted from heel to heel. She gave me a sharp look when Eric made no reply to her joke, and she smiled—well, in as much as you could call a Great White's toothy image a smile—when she saw Eric's outfit.

She almost grabbed me by the elbow as we walked the back halls to his office. "Why, doesn't my master look handsome. What a _nice _outfit. Don't you think so, Sookie?"

"He's a big boy and last I heard, dressed himself."

If Eric's quiet mood in the car had led me to believe his old spark had been diminished, that fear was quickly put to rest. "You could dress me," Eric purred, right as I passed him by the doorway. For a split-second, he ran his hand across his chest as he held my eye.

"Ass," I muttered, and he laughed suddenly, his big barking laugh.

"Sookie," the other party in the room said to me, and I realized---oh, heck, Bill was there, too. Looking a bit grayer than normal, but with Bill, you never knew what that meant. His jaw was set in the position I considered his "Angry" mode, and his dark eyes were simmering. At Eric, of course, and I took my seat with a sigh.

"Angry you aren't allowed those pants any more, Bill?" Pam purred suddenly.

"That is not your concern—"

"It is when you throw a fit about an _order_—"

"An order born out of his jeal—" Bill, as if touched (or slapped) by the goddess of good sense, abruptly stopped.

"Have you said enough?" Eric wasn't seated. He was standing at his desk, his palms on it lightly. You'd almost think he was about to sit down. Except his eyes were on Bill's, and then you'd think he was almost about to leap the desk and take down my ex.

He must've felt I was going to say something—his hand came up from the desk in a "quiet" gesture. Pam, suddenly my new best friend, laid her palm across my wrist, as if to warn me.

"I asked you a question, Compton."

Bill seemed to struggle inside, before he finally nodded tightly at Eric. "I am done, Eric."

"Very well." Eric took his seat and Pam snatched her hand away as if afraid of my human cooties. The moment of danger, I took it, was over—although I'm not sure the male vampires knew it, given the way they were still eyeing each other.

Pam rolled her eyes impatiently. "If you boys are done with t_hat_ particular measuring contest, shall we get to the problem at hand? I for one want to kill that fucker Madden." Pam's teeth flashed white as she smiled, full-fang. "And then we can discuss whether my master and Sookie will sleep with Compton or me."

_AN: Thanks for your thoughts, as always! _


	63. Chapter 63

Pam rolled her eyes impatiently. "If you boys are done with t_hat_ particular measuring contest, shall we get to the problem at hand? I for one want to kill that fucker Madden." Pam's teeth flashed white as she smiled, full-fang. "And then we can discuss whether my master and Sookie will sleep with Compton or me."

I'd like to say it was pandemonium, but the only people who reacted were Bill and yours truly. "I bet your pardon!" I blurted out, while Bill was on his feet, shouting at Pam. Meanwhile, a muscle on Pam's flawless marble might face might have even twitched, she was so obviously amused. I looked helplessly at Eric, who was curiously still. He gave me a slight inclination of his head and then turned his attention to the others.

"Bill, sit; Pam, desist."

Pam still looked as if she might actually giggle, while Bill's face was stonier than ever. "Could someone please tell me what's going on?"

Helpful as always, that Pam piped up first. "When you were intoxicated, you propositioned my master and one of us." Pam's nose wrinkled just slightly; I got the sense she was displeased somehow.

I saw Bill put his hand over to his face, Eric's eyes turning glacial, and Pam starting to grin again.

"I did _what_?"

"You wanted sex. Badly. But don't worry." She patted my knee. "Although you invited all to have you, you were very loyal to my master. When you left, you were even moaning for him to take you behind some—what are those outdoor stairs the humans have, for their games? Oh, yes, bleachers. You were inviting him behind some bleachers, for reasons I am sure I do not know." She paused, as I sat there slack-jawed. "Oh, yes, I do. I believe you said you wanted him to—what was it? Oh, yes, bite you, lick you, rub you, and fuck you all over. Isn't that what she said, Master?"

My face was red as blood, I'm sure, and twice as hot. I wanted to put my face behind my hands, just like Bill. Hell, I wanted to run out of Fangtasia and never come back. Mortification didn't cover it. I don't think I was this embarrassed when Eric found my old doll of that good lookin' Justin Timberlake, which I got back in my school days, when he was in INXS—Tara and I knew all the songs then, of course, and we used to sing in front of our mirrors.

And we were asses, but apparently, I was more so of one last night.

"I am sorry," I said, struggling for dignity. "And I think—I think I will wait in the bar, if you don't mind." I started to get up, but Eric was there, and his hand was on my shoulder, pushing me back into my chair gently.

"You were clearly under the influence of other materials," he said firmly, as if speaking to an audience far larger than three. "None believed a word you said." Pam appeared to cough, and Eric shot her a look.

"Oh, I don't know, I believed her when she said she loved you."

"His bottom," Bill finally spoke up, hissing. "She did _not_ say she loved him, she said she loved his—"—he appeared to sputter, before finally surrendering to modern-day English—"--his ass." As if realizing he sounded a bit odd, he muttered, "She likes buttocks."

Not that _that_ didn't sound odd at all, but given the entire conversation, I couldn't be too critical of him. I just wanted to die inside, myself—to go off somewhere with lots of ice cream and cry a bit, and maybe feel not like a jerk.

"Enough," Eric said in whiplash tones. Bill and Pam both sat back, silenced. Eric's hand was at the back of my neck, giving me a little squeeze. "There will be no more commentary on this. Her words were ramblings, nothing more." He gave me another little squeeze.

Pam looked like she'd like to say more, but Eric gave her another sharp glance before resuming his seat at his desk. "The matter of Victor Madden is what calls us here now." He reeled off what I'd learned at Hooligan's; Bill confirmed my account of the encounter with Victor.

"He was most displeased when Sookie's friend, Miss Amelia, escorted her away," he put in. "I do not believe he intended her to leave the area…aware," he added, giving me a comforting nod. I knew, without him saying so, that the final word had been inserted only for my benefit. Victor didn't want me to leave, period; whether I was "aware" or not was secondary.

"How curious." Eric's voice was mild, far too mild. "I am very tempted to put in a challenge."

Pam set down her drink with a clatter of teacup. "You can't be serious."

"Eric—even I would say—"

"You are not my second, Bill, nor my third." Eric turned predatory eyes to Pam. "I am serious."

"To challenge over a hu—"—Eric's eyebrow arched unsubtly, and Pam swallowed the word she meant to say. "Over something that didn't occur? And you believe Felipe would put Victor to the stake for _that_?"

"I do not care what our king does. It is what I do that matters." His lips drew back to his fangs. "He needs to be reminded of his limits."

"Of course. And when is it necessary to do so by suicide mission?"

"The only death will be his," Eric retorted coolly.

"You have well and truly lost your mind." Pam's cold hand was on mine suddenly. "Speak sense to him, before he kills himself and all of us."

I had no clue what was happening, and it must have shown on my face. Bill leaned forward. "Sookie, Eric wishes to challenge Victor over—over you. If he is fortunate, Felipe puts Victor to death. If he is lucky, he is allowed to fight Victor."

"And he may die. That bastard is how old?" Pam asked nobody in particular.

"And if he is unlucky…or if the king is not willing to hear him out all, the king will not listen to his plea at all, but would take steps to…remove any problems for his lieutenant." Bill stared at his hands. "It is only in rare cases that the king bothers to hear a complaint. This is the most likely response to complaints brought before him."

I gulped back a wave of nausea that hit me so hard my hand flew to my mouth. My eyes closed, trying to block out the sudden stabbing pain.

Pam's voice came to me distantly. "Your bull-headedness is making your human ill."

"She's not _his!" _

I peeked over at Eric, who was glaring daggers at Bill. "Eric."

"Yes, lover?" His eyes hadn't left Bill's, though, and he said the word "lover" just a little too forcefully.

"If you kill Victor, that won't settle Evie, will it?" I didn't mention what the thought of any other outcome did to me.

"No," he said curtly.

"Then could we—could you wait on that option. Please?" I stared at the floor, reminding myself to keep taking deep breaths.

Now I felt his full gaze upon me, unblinking. A long, awful minute passed, as I imagined Pam and Bill meeting me at my house, to tell me Eric had challenged Victor and that things had gone…not well. "Very well."

Pam's hand squeezed my wrist triumphantly. "Let us plan to trap Victor, then, so that our king must deal with him." Pam's use of the word "deal" was not like Howie Mandel's.

I jumped slightly as my purse at my ankle began buzzing insistently. " 'scuse me." I started to get up, but Eric shook his head at me and the vamps all looked on, curious, as I opened my purse.

That curly-haired Jon Mayer was singing about my body being a wonderland—I gave Eric a glare, which he met with angelically innocent eyes, if you think of Lucifer as an angel—when I located the cell at the bottom of my bag. It was Jason.

His words slid out in a long panting breath. "Oh, shit, thank Jesus you're there! Where the fuck are you?"

"I'm at Fangtasia—What's going on?" I knew perfectly well the vamps could hear Jason's side of the conversation at well as mine, but now they really showed signs of interest.

"There's a fucking dead guy on your doorstep! And I don't mean a vamper, I mean a real dead guy!"

"A dead guy? A dead guy?" My voice started to slide into glass-breaking levels of shrill.

Pam snatched the phone from my hand, pressed a button, and put it on Eric's desk. Speakerphone, I guess. "Jason Stackhouse, this is Pam! The vampire," she added, I guess realizing Jason probably knew too many woman to bother remembering names.

"Uh—uh—nice to hear from you—" Jason appeared torn between the desire to panic over the corpse, and instinctive courtesy to a single woman.

"Tell us about this body! Where is it? Who is it?"

I was running through a list of names, praying it was nobody I knew, but then, Jason would be able to identify them, too.

"I don't know—just some dead guy dumped on Sook's porch! I was coming over to, um, watch a DVD with her, you know." Oh, yes, I knew. Half of my already-skimpy DVD collection was at Jason's, mysteriously leaving my place when I wasn't around.

"And nobody's here—Amelia's with her fella, and Sook—Sook wasn't here—" –I actually heard a sob in Jason's throat. That did it. I started crying in earnest, as Eric's voice thundered over me.

"Stackhouse, this is Northman." Dimly, inappropriately, the thought hit me: what is it with men and an inability to use first names? "Don't touch the body and do not call the police. We are coming."

We were. After a momentary squabble in the parking lot about Pam's choice of rental to replace her minivan (some tiny car, which both Eric and Bill considered offensively feminine), we decided to split into different cars. "In case we need trunk space," Pam said, and I tried not to think about that.

I just closed my eyes as Eric drove, true to form, like a madman to Bon Temps.

"You said nothing to cause concern," Eric said out of the blue.

My eyes flew open to see my driver, white-faced, bare-chested, staring straight ahead. "When you were intoxicated," he added, sensing my confusion.

Were we really having this conversation? "Pam said I propositioned everyone!"

Eric shrugged. "You wanted sex with me. That is normal."

"Pam seemed to think I hit on her." I folded my arms under my chest and saw a glimmer of white from Eric's eyes. "Eyes on the road, please."

Eric's jaw jutted out. "The only person you need think about is me."

"Of course," I snorted.

"Of course," he answered lightly. Even driving like a bat out of hell, he managed to get a hand off the steering wheel and inappropriately up my thigh. "And I saw none would molest you."

"Other than yourself."

"Of course." He squeezed my leg. I remembered waking up, tucked safely into bed, medicine by my table, decidedly _not_ molested. I shifted, wondering if there should be some molesting tonight. I peeked out from my under lashes at his leather-clad form. Yes, that might be in order.

And then, of course, I remembered he'd thoroughly taken my mind off the horror waiting for us at my house. I suppose he felt it hit me; his hand lifted from dangerously high on my thigh to take my hand.

"Breathe, Sookie." His fingers slid through mine. "We are all well. _We_ will be well."

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask about the poor, very un-well dead man, but then I thought that Eric had seen a lot of death in his lifetime, and probably wasn't as horrified by it as I was. Especially given that he himself had been there, done that, I sighed to myself.

We ripped into my beautiful driveway and Eric was out the door before I could get my seatbelt off. He wasn't trying to be Mr. Chivalrous and help me with my door—no, he'd flown to my front yard, where Jason was hovering, walking around anxiously.

I struggled with the low-slung door of the Corvette for a second, then got myself out just before a too-eager Bill could come to my rescue. (I praised myself for avoiding yet another He-man contest over who was nicer to Sookie.) Even still, Bill held up a warning hand.

"Let us look first, Sookie. You might not want to see this."

I might not. Hell, you think? I trudged to the yard, to meet Jason, who was also standing back. All of the vampires had descended on the porch now.

"Oh, Sook!" Jason crushed me to him, buried his face in my hair. "What will the cops say? Will they think I did it?" He continued to sniffle. "I don't know why they're always looking at me! Sure, I speed over by the school, but who doesn't? And I got my license renewed late that one time, but Sheriff Dearborn said that wasn't going to be a problem—and I look at them sites sometime, you know, the girlie ones—but that's not illegal, is it? Not unless you got kids or freaky shit in it--"

"Jason Stackhouse."

To his credit, Jason didn't throw me to he side when Pam spoke. He did jerk upright, though, and automatically a brilliant smile was on his face. "Why, if it's not my favorite pale girl! How are you tonight?"

"Just fine." Pam's red lips _might_ have tilted up at the corners, if you were watching her generously. "You say you came here and found this body, and that is all you did?"

"Course!"

"Let me see your phone." Her eyes were unblinking. Jason, without protesting, dug out his cell and handed it over.

"You are glamoring my brother!"

Pam ignored me; her nails were a blur over the keys on the phone. She handed it back to Jason, apparently satisfied. "Good. You told no one else. And now we will need your truck."

"No!" It wasn't Jason who spoke up. "Pam, he can't get any scents in his truck—you know what I mean—"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, fine. Bill! Time to prove your loyalty!"

A stunned Jason and I stood aside as Eric and Bill passed us, something wrapped in black plastic between them. They were putting it—_him_, I reminded myself, trying to say a little prayer for the poor soul—in Bill's trunk. I blinked rapidly, remembering all of the problems that went with trunks.

"Sookie." Eric's voice was soft. He crooked a finger at me from beside the car. "We need you now."

I walked to the car slowly. Eric intercepted me before I got to the trunk. "We believe we know, Sookie, but we are not certain. You saw him before." I must've looked green, because he said, "Be brave," and stepped aside.

Time thinned out like a sheet tugged past its natural limits. I gulped down the acid in my throat and made myself look down into the trunk. Bill or Eric had ripped open the top of the garbage bag, so I could conveniently see the face.

Oh, hell.

"It's Jerry."

I staggered backwards, putting my hands to the face, both to avoid gagging and to suppress the sudden horrible desire to giggle and cry, because at least it wasn't Sam, or Terry, or any of my friends. The combination of horror and inappropriate glee just made me more hysterical; I bent over at the waist, grabbing my knees and tried to calm myself.

Pam got to me before the vamps. "Stop this. You are a woman." She gave me a rough shake. (I suspected she'd have slapped me, but for Eric's presence.) "Don't let those idiots cause more problems." She tilted her head over her shoulder, where I saw Eric and Bill engaged in a stare off, apparently over whom would comfort me.

I nodded to signal I was okay, and time picked up again. Eric was on the phone, hissing into it, and then slamming it shut. "Bubba," he said disgustedly to Pam. "He was distracted." The slight weight on "distracted" made me worry about the neighborhood's cats.

"I knew we should've had back-up for him," Pam muttered. "Damned idiot."

"Get others here, now." Eric shoved his phone back into his vest pocket, his eyes sweeping the yard. I stepped back again and bumped into Jason. The dreamy expression on his face was now just simple confusion. He grabbed my hand automatically.

"Why's someone dumping a body on your porch, Sook?"

"I don't know, Jason."

"Are them vampers going to do that CSI shit on your porch? I don't see any glowing shit to show hand-marks."

"Good idea, Jason," I said dully, although I wasn't sure the perpetrator in this case would have a hand-print on file with any US government office.

The vamps were muttering together, words flying too fast for me to catch. Eric broke away from them and strode up to us. "Stackhouse, you are in our debt. You may go now. You won't remember this tomorrow."

"Sure." Jason almost staggered from us.

"You just glamored my brother! And you're going to let him drive?" Across the yard, I watched him fiddle with his keys, trying to find the door key.

"He will be fine," Eric said curtly. His hands were now on my shoulders, turning me to him. In the dark, his bright blue eyes were just a navy gleam. "Your home is secure, Sookie. This was a message."

"I kind of got that, thanks!"

He didn't react to me. "The additional security will be here soon. Bubba is back on duty. Bill and Pam will remove the body." He saw me wince, but carried on. "Listen to me, Sookie. This is very important. The body was not drained." I started to ask the obvious. "But the kill was too quick for it to be a human. His neck was snapped." I let myself, secure beneath his hands, recall my memories of Jerry—no tiny man. "It was a clean snap, Sookie. We all agree, it is not likely a mortal did that to him."

"But not a vam—"

"We do not know. There are scents of many upon him. And if a vampire did this, and did not drain him…" I knew what he meant. Vamps have their own way of environmentalism—they only let good blood go to waste under the direst of circumstances or the desire to make the most significant statements. I quaked under his big hands, and his hands tightened. "You will be safe. Do not doubt."

"I don't," I said honestly.

A figure drifted up next to me. "I've told your roommate," Pam advised me. "Just in case her boyfriend should smell anything." She turned to Eric. "I will help Compton in getting rid of our problem."

Somehow, I just knew moving the body wasn't going to fix the ultimate problem. I sagged a little at the knees, and Eric pulled me against him.

"My house, Eric, why did they do this at my house?"

His big hands smoothed my back. "They did not enter the house. We agreed on that. Only your brother did."

I closed my eyes and kept my forehead tilted into the bare skin of his chest. "Did he—did he die here?"

"I do not believe so," he said quietly. His thumbs were rotating against my skin, and he made a low noise, almost a contented humming, in his throat. Something else was pushing into my body, too, but far south of his thumbs.

"Eric, we can't," I mumbled, as he nuzzled into my hair, his hands starting to slide up and down my sides. "A man is dead."

"He is dead and we are not, lover. We live." He tilted my head back and slid his lips over mine, reminding me what the hint of danger did to him.

And to me, too, because my tongue had no problem following his lead, feeling his cheeks lift up against mine.

A crack in the woods made me still. Eric murmured, barely lifting his lips from mine, "Just Bubba."

Just Bubba. That was a bit of cold water for me, remembering not just Bubba but other vamps were supposed to be out there, watching the house—watching us. I wiggled against Eric and he grunted, first in enthusiasm, then unhappily, as he realized my intent, lifting his lips so I could speak.

"Not here," I whispered, as if Bubba and the others might hear us.

"Home," he agreed, and lifted me in his arms.


	64. Chapter 64

A crack in the woods made me still. Eric murmured, barely lifting his lips from mine, "Just Bubba."

Just Bubba. That was a bit of cold water for me, remembering not just Bubba but other vamps were supposed to be out there, watching the house—watching us. I wiggled against Eric and he grunted, first in enthusiasm, then unhappily, as he realized my intent, lifting his lips so I could speak.

"Not here," I whispered, as if Bubba and the others might hear us. His eyebrows were very decidedly slanting downwards. I put a finger against his frowning lips.

"Home."

You'd think that would be a decisive statement, but no. We came together, all right, in one last kiss, but then we got all tangled up trying to figure out where "home" was. Eric had apparently been of the mindset that home was my house behind us; he was trying to walk me backwards towards it. Meanwhile, here I thought we'd go back to his place, and I was wiggling around him, to lead him to the car.

Since our mouths weren't coming up for air, it took us a couple of minutes to figure out the mix-up. And then another couple of minutes of arguing, before Eric won. He pointed out, rather grumpily, that leather isn't very stretchy and because of my wiggling, his pants weren't fitting him very well at the moment. (In his mind. In my mind, they were fitting him very well indeed.)

"Oh," I agreed, glancing down. "Guess that'd cause some confusion with the stick shift, huh?"

He didn't think that was too funny. "I have waited too long for this, woman. I am not waiting another twenty minutes." He scooped me up under the butt, my legs automatically swinging around him, and started walking us into the house.

"Too long? It's only been, what, two days!"

He grunted. "For one of us, lover." He kicked open the door—Jason had left it unlocked—and crossed into the foyer. Rolling his eyes, he set the deadbolt, as if to suggest he, the Big Bad Vamp, could not possibly need a lock, but he'd do it for the sake of the Little Lady.

The Little Lady in this case was searching his face. "What does that mean?" I knew it didn't mean he couldn't stand it and gone off with some fangbanger—somehow I knew Eric wouldn't do that to me. I searched his eyes, glinting silver as we navigated through the darkened house.

"One of us was very much in the mood." He gave me his angel smile. As in, fallen angel.

"You—you did _not_ take advantage of me last night!"

"No, I did not." He dropped me on the bed unceremoniously; I bounced.

A bed sidelight flipped on next to me. Suddenly he was above me, bracing himself with strong arms. "You, however…" He rolled to his side, so I could appreciate the picture he cut, all leather and lean muscle. "Were very affectionate."

_Don't look at the chest, don't look at the chest, oh, damn it! _I jerked my eyes back up to his. They were just as distracting, damn him. "And what does that mean?"

He smiled. There were fangs. "You were intent on pleasuring me."

My voice hit an octave I didn't know I had. In another situation, I'd be remembering that for the next time I was in church choir. "You bastard! You let me—"

He laughed and rolled back on his back; the bed shook. "Sookie, you apparently wished to demonstrate certain skills of the tongue—"—he wiggled his eyebrows—"—but you mistook my finger for other parts." Now he just looked slightly irritated, eyeballing his hand critically.

"Well, your fingers _are_ big—"

Eric gave me a cool look. Okay, that defense definitely wasn't flying with him. "And then you fell asleep. Snoring, I might add."

"Well, poor baby." I suppose I should've felt bad that I'd apparently worked him up and left him to cool his heels, but I didn't. Instead, I just saw in my head my bloated self snoring up a storm, while Eric with his beautiful face observed me as I flopped there, no doubt drooling and doing every other inelegant thing possible. I snorted. "Way to make me feel sexy," I blurted out, and flipped to my side, away from him.

Vampires are predators. Why do I always forget that, when it comes to Eric? He was on me and over me, his lower body slanting against my own, the roughness of his beard brushing my cheek. "Have you any idea of the torture you have inflicted upon me, lover?" His voice could've lit a fire in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. "To know you wanted me—to be able to do nothing?" He hesitated over that last word, as if worried I'd take it the wrong way. Eric was definitely not the poster boy for Vampire Viagra. "To take you then would be wrong," he added, just in case I needed assurance that in his case, the body was _never _weak.

My snit was rapidly deflating, thanks to the very large compliment Eric's body was currently paying me. "And now?" If my hips pushed back into his, I was just being human.

"And now my woman needs to be taken," he murmured. "Thoroughly." His tongue laved my inner ear, setting off little explosions where he'd touched. "My woman needs me."

Possessive bullshit? Check. Egotistical as hell? Check. Sexy as hell?

Oh, okay. Definitely check.

I whimpered and tried to surreptitiously bite my pillow, so he wouldn't know the effect he was having on me. He heard, of course, and chuckled darkly, sliding his hands down to my waist, urging me to roll over on my stomach.

"Come, my lover, let me love you properly."

"You said I snored," I pretended to grouse. It was hard to focus as he tugged my pants off, pushed up the back of my shirt, and burrowed his face into the small of my back.

"You enticed me beyond all reason, woman," he said, rubbing the planes of his face against the curve of my back. His big hand slid up and down my legs and butt, his hands shifting and fingers spreading out to touch—

"That's not fair!" My body practically jumped from the bed.

His lips made a curve against my lower back. "All's fair, lover."

"Ohhh, damn it." I couldn't help myself; my legs opened of their own accord, to grant him access. And he did nothing with it, of course—he just brushed the length of his fingers against me, as if it were no more sensitive there than I was on my hip, or my leg, or anywhere else his fingers might brush.

"Beautiful," I heard him murmur behind him, and I felt the rasp of his beard against my skin as he drew his face even further downwards, his hands lifting up my hips suddenly, so I was on my knees. Before I could react, his breath was on me intimately, freezing me like a hunter's arrow hitting its prey. His jaw brushed me before his tongue did, and all I could feel was the pulse of shocking rush of lava and stinging ice where we connected, the press of his thumbs opening me like a secret chamber for his exploration.

There was nothing to say—he made low, soothing noises in his throat, and I was reduced to incoherent gasps with each swipe of his tongue, each slip of his fingers. I tumbled forward, biting the pillow to keep my sobs and screams alike down.

"Let it out," he finally said, his voice rough against my throbbing skin. "For me, Sookie," and I finally howled, as his teeth on my leg, with his fingers within me, took me over the edge.

I should've collapsed—instead, I was just frantic for him. "Eric," I gasped, struggling against his hands. "Get up here."

Muffled against my skin, his words drifted up to me. "And where is that?" His tongue snaked across the wounds on my leg, reminding me of its prior performance; my body pulsed for him.

"_Please_." My hips rubbed, of their own accord, down into the mattress; his throaty chuckle vibrated against my skin.

"Missing something, lover?" The mattress shifted as he moved; first, his big hand clamped on my lower back, keeping me pinned down, and then the other hand came up to yank my t-shirt ungraciously off. Now his hands gripped my wrists and pinned them as he slid all the way up against me. His beard scraped against my spine, his leather-clad legs framing mine. I shoved back wantonly against the butter-like leather wrapping about his hard frame, and heard him growl.

Suddenly, his chin pushed against me, and the back of my bra snapped open. The straps slid off my shoulders as if either exhausted, or as if the Girls were volunteering for Eric's attention. I stared at the large male hands locking mine down on the bed, hands that hadn't moved--

"Did you just _bite_ my bra off?"

"Problem?" I was suddenly on my back and his head was bent to explore my breasts, laving each nipple into a state of torment.

"Oh, Lord have mercy, no," I muttered, trying to rally what senses I had left. There weren't many—just enough to claw off his vest, to expose those shoulders that did me in every time I saw them. He hissed as I nipped him there, and growled low in his throat again as I reached down to fumble with his zipper. Thankfully, the leather eased down over his glorious nether attributes with relatively little trouble. (Although Eric might've torn them as he kicked them off—I had a feeling, from the way he was kissing every inch of my skin near him, he didn't care if his wardrobe was entirely ruined, just so long as our bodies came in contact.) We worked well together, he'd said once, and he was right; I was easing on back and he was easing right over me as if we'd done this hundreds of times, and knew just how to fit together.

Well, the hundreds of times part might've been a bit of an exaggeration, but the fitting together surely wasn't. I closed my eyes for a second as he slid in, all the way in.

"Look at me," he said, just as I opened my eyes for him. His face was naked as body, and just as beautiful—the brow slightly creased with concentration, as he watched my response to him; his eyes glowing at mine with joy and something else, something that made my own eyes blink rapidly; his firm, masculine mouth slightly open, with the strain of waiting for me.

But he was waiting. I blinked again, and let instinct take over. "Eric, I need you." I scraped my nails down his back, and squeezed him intimately. His eyes threatened to roll back in his head, and he shuddered beneath me, so I did it again.

I could feel his chest rumble from his suppressed groan, and felt myself blush under the speculative look he fixed upon me. Now the sapphire gaze on me was downright threatening. "Woman, are you attempting to lead me?"

"If you like it," I taunted, and gave him a good squeeze, front and back.

His answer to me was his favorite curse word. Chalk that up as Sookie 1, Eric 0, I thought, but then lost all thought entirely. He dove forward, his lips crashing down on mine just as his hands scooped my lower body up, to give us a better angle. I writhed against him; I drove my heels into the back of his legs, then around his waist, to work myself closer to him, closer in him. He paused to adjust us as I cried out for more. "Eric, _please!" _It was a tribute to our state that he didn't smirk at me, didn't tease me for obviously having evened the score—he just fixed those beautiful eyes on me as if he wanted to sink into them, to sink into me, as our bodies came together. I found myself chanting as he surged once more within me, his thrusts timed to the beat of my heart. "Love me, love me!"

"Lover, yes," he growled, arching down to search out my lips with his own. I felt the cool liquid of his tongue slide against mine, one of his hands between us to rub my agonizingly peaked nipple, and then I felt him hiss. His thrusts redoubled; his eyes penetrated mine; his other hand slid down further to bring me into his own state. It only took a few more minutes, and then we were a tumbling, sweaty mess of naked limbs on the bed, with no break between us.

He exhaled against my cheek and the mattress dipped when he started to push up. "Don't go, honey," I whispered, so he stilled, bringing his body back down over me, but trying not to press fully into me nonetheless. I stroked his quivering back muscles regardless, suddenly too shy to say what I felt, that I loved having him there, in me, satisfied.

"I will stay," he murmured only. His lips brushed my cheek again, his tongue slipping out to catch one of the tear stains.

"We should stay here and do this all night," I mumbled into his hair, palms cradling the sculpted lines of his shoulders. I massaged them as best I could; the skin seemed to vibrate beneath my flesh.

He laughed, a movement that made my whole body tingle happily. "I have no objection."

"Is it safe, though?"

At my question, he pushed up just enough to look down into my face. It seemed to take him a minute to recall the circumstances of how we came to be at my house, why I'd even be asking that question. He shook his head, as if to clear it, before answering. "We are fine, Sookie. Do not fear." He dipped forward; his hair swung around to curtain us off from the rest of the world. "I will not allow anyone or anything to harm you."

"Not an issue." I gave him a quick kiss, or tried—if Eric doesn't want a kiss to end fast, trust me, he can coax you into a kiss-a-thon before you know it. I found myself reluctantly pulling back, still sucking on his bottom lip, before I managed to get my thoughts together again. "The point is, this was supposedly a message for me, right?" Eric sighed; my fingers flexed into him. "Eric! You know something!"

He rolled us to the side—either to ease his arms or to make it easier for me to see his face, I don't know. "I have a theory, nothing more."

"Then tell me. Please."

His hand closed over my breast, toying with it as he appeared to consider his words. "A single message may have multiple recipients, and multiple meanings," he said simply.

I gasped as his thumb flicked my nipple just-so, but managed to keep my wits about me. "So the body wasn't just about me."

"No." His fingers continued to toy with my swelling flesh. "He was dropped on your doorstep for a reason. On the doorstep of a woman—" He bent his head over my chest, his tongue emerging between his fangs. He turned his jaw just-so and I'd get a little prick; another turn, and a little lick. My world was rapidly narrowing to the dance of his lips and tongue on my breast.

"—who is with—_oohhhhh_, I like that—a vampire man—"

Eric just grunted, so I tried to mull that over in between the caresses he was lavishing on my chest, almost as if to keep me from thinking. _A human with a vampire lover_. _A human with a vampire lover. Jerry had…._

"Evie," I breathed. Fortunately, Eric must've felt my realization coming, because he'd drawn back—no doubt so a third party couldn't take credit for the throbbing, humming state into which he'd worked my body.

"It was a message to her? To kill the man she loved?" I ran my hands up into his hair, trying to think what it must be like to be in her shoes just now. (I knew Pam would have a comment about those shoes, but I could just think of what my life would be like without the Viking still holding me. My heart contracted so painfully, I had to force my chest to open, to take in breaths.) "But who--?"

"A message to her, and to another, yes." Eric's face was now more closed than Fort Knox. He brought his head down, leaving a lazy trail of kisses down my belly, to my navel. He paused there to inhale deeply and a part of my mind wondered what we'd look like in the big mirrors of Eric's room, with his head resting against my lower abdomen, and my hand stroking his golden hair.

But he was too quiet. As much as I wanted to stay that, feeling the sparks of his beard against my lower body, stroking the silk of his hair between my fingers, I wanted to know what was in that head most. I wished I could see his face, to try to guess what he was thinking. I pulled gently at him and he reared up elegantly over me, that stubborn set to his face again, the same look on his face when that Were had attacked us in his Corvette, ages ago. I knew that look: _Mine_.

I didn't have to use my telepathy against Eric's normally sealed-off mind. I just knew it, from the tips of my toes to the ends of my hair. I knew exactly what he was thinking, because the same horrible, awful, unspeakable thought crossed my own mind. _A message sent to a vampire who had loved a human…_

Eric swore savagely as I began to tear up again; his body surged within me once more. "Look at me, Sookie." My teary eyes met his. "I vow this. _Nothing_ will stop this." I felt the throb of him in me as he claimed me, claimed us. "This is _right_."

"Yes," I whispered back, arching my back up for him.

He swooped down so that his hair swung around all us. All I could see was the beautiful blue of his eyes, the sweet set of his lips. "_Nothing_, love. All I have—all I own—all my people—_everything_—"

"I just want you," I mumbled against the softness of his lips as they feathered against mine. I gasped between the punctuation of his hips. "All I want—is _you_."

"Done," he murmured back, his eyes glowing into mine, and we gave in to each other.

Eric was in downtime when I woke up. I was draped across his naked body—not a bad place to be, I thought, watching how the moonlight played across the very male lines of his face.

My heart contracted, not just from the sight of him, but wondering how, out there, Evie felt. And who would do such a thing? Who wanted to frighten me, threaten Eric, and hurt Evie? I fought the urge to smother Eric's chest with frenzied kisses, as if my lips might protect him from anybody out there who might do him harm. An idea came to me, made my body stiffen—yes, I knew someone who might be angry with Evie, someone who definitely had issues with Eric, and therefore with me.

"What are you thinking, my lover?" Although Eric didn't need to sleep, his voice was drowsy, suggestive of long evenings spent—well, definitely not sleeping.

"Nothing…" His fingers slid against my side restlessly. "Okay, just….you're beautiful," I mumbled, running my fingers through the darker hairs that crowned his chest, allowing them to explore the strong column of his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed as he opened his mouth to speak—he didn't bother to open his eyes.

"Taking advantage of me again, I see."

I snorted. "Yes, you poor innocent, you." My fingers slid against his jaw, traced the smiling curves of his lips, stroked the slightly swell of the bridge of his nose. Maybe some might consider that a flaw; to me, his nose was just undeniably masculine, just like the rest of him.

Masculine and very, very much interested in the feminine, from the way his hand slid firmly and slowly up my side, his fingers stretching out to my breast. "Don't mind me," he murmured, when I shivered a little against his exploration. Without thinking, I wiggled to center my hips over him and pushed myself up to sit above him. He had dropped his hand back with a sign as I'd moved; now both hands came up to support me.

From the front, of course. Eric has his own not-so-little fetishes, I guess you could say.

"They're not miracles," I groused, as his hands curled enthusiastically around me. He opened his eyes fully, to smile at me, his face as open as it might have been, one night one thousand years ago. Something stabbed me, deep within, at the sight of that unguarded smile.

"I would disagree," he said only, his teeth glinting wickedly white in the moonlight.

"Pfft. Men."

"Women." He lifted me easily and shifted me astride him, so we could rock together. I eased downward carefully under his guidance, and his voice dropped to a note that made my toes tingle. "_My _woman."

_My man_, I thought to myself, allowing him to guide me up that sweet hill again. No matter what, I wasn't going to let anybody disrupt _this_, the wild eruptions occurring in me as Eric's eyes alternately grew fierce and soft, locked on mine. Nobody—not even a man who might wound his own minion. Not even Victor.

_AN: Thanks as always for your thoughts! I appreciate all of them._


	65. Chapter 65

"Pfft. Men."

"Women." He lifted me easily and shifted me astride him, so we could rock together. I eased downward carefully under his guidance, and his voice dropped to a note that made my toes tingle. "_My _woman."

_My man_, I thought to myself, allowing him to guide me up that sweet hill again. No matter what, I wasn't going to let anybody disrupt _this_, the wild eruptions occurring in me as Eric's eyes alternately grew fierce and soft, locked on mine. Nobody—not even a man who might wound his own minion. Not even Victor.

Not surprisingly, I woke up feeling pretty worn out the next morning. Parts of me felt like a dishrag worn out; other parts of me felt like I'd tried to ride the mechanical bull Sam used to have in Merlotte's, before he bought the pool table.

I turned my head slowly to spy the pillow I thought of as Eric's, still slightly dented from where his head had been. Foolishly, I stretched out a hand to touch that space, as if I might feel his (non-existent) body heat still on the pillowcase and sheets beneath. Even though I'd just been staying with him a couple of days, I'd gotten used to waking him up next to him, spending a good few minutes admiring him, and then doing my best to suppress the various ideas his slumbering form inevitably gave me.

"Oh, honey, I suppose I'm missing you already," I murmured.

That thought brought me back to my revelations of the night before. How, I wondered, smoothing my palm across Eric's side of the bed, had Evie taken the news of her lover's loss? Or, I thought with an internal shudder, what about his family, or even his employers? I bit my lip. I had a feeling Eric would just give me that blank "So?" look if I asked those questions, but that didn't mean I wasn't going to think them. I might be learning some of the harshness of vampire life, but that didn't mean I was born to think of all of my enemies as dead and disposed of, dumped anonymously Lord-knows-where.

I rolled over to the other side of the bed. There was a note propped up there:

_To ground now. Meet me at Fangtasia tonight. The car is yours. Do not miss me too much._

_~E_

He hadn't left any "XOXO" comments on the note, but I imagined the thought was there and I tried not to smile like a fool. It's a good thing Eric didn't have any shorthand for other kinds of acts, I reminded myself, or he'd happily sketch that out, too.

As much as I wanted to loll in bed and think back to all of those other acts—and how many of them we'd done recently—Gran would've had a fit if I saw noon still in bed. So I forced myself to get up and clean up, both the house and myself. It felt good to get moving, and it helped to keep my mind away from my worries. Also, I had to admit it made me laugh, as I saw Eric had apparently helped himself to a scan of my underwear drawer—one of my rare Victoria's Secrets sets had been pulled out and placed pointedly on my dresser. Right by the bottle of Obsession, of course.

"Well, it could've been worse. He could've dug around for my junior high diaries." Visions of a curious Viking flipping through my last diary, delicately licking a finger to flip through the pages filled with heart stickers and half-entered pages of bubbly, fruit-scented handwriting, momentarily made me shudder.

I decided to humor Eric and wear his choices, but not without firing off a text. "So you dress me now?"

The answer came as I putting the last of the dishes away. "And undress you, too. I thought these items would suitably caress and cup your beauty in my absence."

I snorted out loud at that and tucked the phone away, ready to go back to my small chores, but the phone rang.

"Hello, Miss. It's Bobby." Bobby Burnham, Eric's day man, was about as warm to me as the iceberg was to the _Titanic_. "I am calling on my employer's orders." In other words, _I'd never talk to you a day in my life, if I could help it. _I bit my lip and tried to think charitable thoughts. "You're getting a delivery from the bakery out there, and I'm supposed to tell you to accept it."

It's a pretty sad state of affairs when you look at every delivery as a possible attack, I thought, but I had to say Bobby—and Eric—had a point. I thanked Bobby as cordially as I could, and then battened down the hatches for the delivery. I hadn't bothered to ask Bobby what it was; he'd never tell me, and I'd just be wasting valuable air trying to talk with him.

Besides, I noted, as I peeked out the window (what? It's not every day a girl gets a delivery), I'd just be wasting time. Sure enough, just as Bobby had predicted, Damon, the boy who delivers items for order from the Bon Temps Bakery, was pulling up in my driveway, and walking to the door, white box in hand.

There was a little note attached to the box, in Eric's handwriting—"Your favorite, I believe?" I lifted the lid.

"Cinnamon buns?" Why on earth had he sent that? And what did the note mean?

Before I could figure out why he'd sent them, Jason wandered into the kitchen. "Hey, sis." His voice had a dull edge to it. I glanced at him sharply and noticed an unusual amount of confusion in his face. "I was just coming over for—some DVDs?"

_Well, fancy that_. Scraping a loose hair off my face, I blew out some air from my mouth. Jason, I guess, had gone back to his plans for last night, when looking for DVDs had led him to my door. Because he'd been glamoured then, though, he didn't remember it at all—he just still felt that original decision to get some movies.

"Sure," I said, feeling more than a little ashamed that my associations had led to Jason's befuddlement. Granted, I never thought Jason to be the sharpest tool in the shed, but still, the fact he'd lost memories due to me made me sad.

His eyes already seemed to be brightening, though, as he turned his head to the white box in my hands. "Mmmm, you got enough for a hungry brother, Sook?"

I figured Eric wouldn't mind (it's not like he could eat it, after all), so we both grabbed plates before heading into the living room. Jason parked himself by the shelf with the DVDs, alternately munching on his bun and flipping through cases.

His head was already buried in the shelf. "You don't got that _Fast and Furious_ here?"

There went my hesitant feelings of bonding, all right. I rolled my eyes. "No, I think you borrowed it before." I remembered Amelia had got it for us because she liked the bald guy in it, even though I said he didn't do it for me.

"Ah, okay." Jason continued thumbing through the titles as I grabbed the moment to relax on the couch. I let him cruise my copies in peace; to be truthful, I kind of liked having Jason around, especially knowing, as I did, there was someone out there who had heaved a body up on my porch just like you might leave the morning paper. Granted Jason (who was now studying the box of _Cars_, which was left the last time Arlene's kids had been over) wasn't going to be all that much against any kind of Supe attack, but it felt nice to have at least the hope of some back-up, anyway.

"So I heard you had yourself a party the other night," he finally said, moving from the shelf to drop into the chair by me, heedless of its age. "How'd your man feel about that?"

"A party?"

"Yeah, you girls went out to that gay club, where the dudes are all buck naked."

There were many problems with that statement, but now wasn't the time to try to educate Jason. "We went to Hooligan's, if that's what you mean."

"And your man was okay with that? I don't have a woman right now, but hell, if my girl was letting some guy swing his dick in her face—"

"There was no swinging!" I was so worked up I almost knocked over the Coke Jason had left on the table. With a little more restraint, I muttered, "Of anything."

_Not that night, anyway, and not by any dancer at Hooligan's_, my inner devil cheerfully supplied.

My cheeks must've flamed, because Jason just regarded me skeptically. "Yeah. So, is the big guy going to be okay?"

Why was he so concerned about the state of my relationship with Eric? I almost started to ask him, but suspicion dropped on me like a bag of bricks. "What do you want with Eric?"

"Nothing…" Jason squirmed in his chair. "Just times are tight, you know that. Thought I might look around for extra hours, side project, you know." I knew what that meant. Half of Bon Temps was doing "side projects" that involved money that was never reported to the IRS. "Figured he might have some stuff to be built, or know somebody who did." Jason didn't know how right he was. As Sheriff, Eric did hear about the business plans of the other vamps in the region—he would definitely know who was building, and who wasn't. He'd also have the power to suggest a few new employees, too, if he so wanted. Although whether I'd want Jason working for a vamp I didn't know—well, I didn't know. Who's to say Jason wouldn't end up being a snack, not a salary?

"C'mon, Sook, I saw the car the dude gave you out there—he's got the hots for you, big-time. He'd help a brother out." I ground my teeth, as Jason plowed on. "Heck, if you just asked him for some cash—"

"I am not asking Eric for money!" I snarled.

"Well, you don't need to get all huffy about it! Geez!" His face was indignant, his tone less so. I shrugged and made my way to the foyer—Jason could see himself out when he was ready, and I had to get a few groceries. Just because I wasn't here full time didn't mean I could let the fridge run down. And besides, what if the vamps came over? I eyed Jason. Somehow I thought the synthetic blood would be easier to get than the human kind.

Jason stretched lazily, his shirt riding up. "If you're goin' somewhere, I am supposed to go with you."

"What?" Was I in some kind of hell?

"Yeah, Calvin said I was to stay with you." Jason shrugged his broad shoulders. "Said somebody might be giving you a hard time otherwise."

Well, that was mighty interesting. I shot a speculative glance at Jason, whose face was as simple as a baby's. Clearly, Jason hadn't been informed about everything that had been going on here, or he'd have beat it out of the house already. And, yes, maybe he'd have dragged me with him—Jason may put Jason first, but he's a family man, regardless.

I let Jason go along with me, although it was an expensive business. At the grocery store, he kept throwing ho-hos and M&Ms in the cart whenever my back was turned—if he was even around, that is, as he kept talking to the women in the vegetable area. (I didn't want to know what he was thinking as he squeezed the melons.) In the car, we had a couple of arguments over which of us got to drive. I won, because I wasn't going to face Eric if Jason wrecked the Batmobile; this didn't stop Jason from pouting and whining to be allowed a turn.

We finally made it to Merlotte's for lunch (Jason) and information (me). It didn't take much to get Jason settled in a booth with some friends, completely oblivious to my absence, while I sneaked off to have a word with my boss.

Sam was drying dishes in the back. He barely lifted his head from his work to greet me. "Sookie," he said flatly.

I borrowed a page from Eric's book and growled, before breaking into sarcasm. "Hi, Sookie, it's so nice to see you again. I am so sorry you had a body on your doorstep last night—is there any way I can help?"

Sam almost dropped the plate. "A body? That was for real?"

"Yes! Why would I ever—"

Sam grabbed me and tugged me back to his office before I could unleash my self-righteous indignation. The thin wooden door shook as he threw it closed, and then leaned against it. I glared at him from my chair, no longer feeling quite so outraged as before.

"Tell me everything, Sook. I mean it." Sam is normally a kind and gentle soul, the type kids know they can run all over. But Sam's voice now had just a little too much tension in it.

So for once I didn't fight him, and I just spilled my guts. Maybe Eric wouldn't approve about letting Sam in on "vampire business," but I figured, he'd already become involved, and cutting him out now wasn't going to help anybody.

"So this Evie's boyfriend ends up dead, hmmm." Sam whistled and leaned back in his chair. "Not good."

"I gathered that much."

He didn't acknowledge my sarcasm. Instead, he kept staring up at his ceiling and the fan swinging circles up there. "Sook, those vamps are damned territorial." I snorted. A big part of me wanted to ask why Sam felt the need to tell _me_ this, and another part of me wanted to comment, in the spirit of fairness, that shifters weren't known for their lack of jealousy, either. But I kept my tongue still. Sam eventually turned slightly, bringing his face back to me. "Evie's going to be _pissed_."

I felt guilty for spreading his words, but I had to. "Eric said it was a message to her."

Sam looked thoughtful—too thoughtful. I squirmed and looked aside as he spoke. "Maybe. But I don't know if I would think politics when my girl's gone missing."

I wondered whom Evie would blame. I had my money on Victor, but would she? I caught myself glancing at the window, as if in the daytime a vamp could spring out at me. "Do you think she's going to blame me?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe. When she starts tracking him, she's definitely going to smell him at your house, and vamps there—maybe she'll decide—oh, _shit, shit, shit, _Sookie! _Shit!_" He looked around wildly, then hit the desk with fury. "We are _fucking _stupid!"

"What, what?" This may have proven Sam's point, but I wasn't too proud to ask.

"Sook, she's going to go looking for him. She's going to his house—and she's going to _smell us there." _

"If she hasn't already."

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, maybe she just figured we were looking around then, but Sook, put yourself in her shoes. She's searching for her man. She goes to his place and a woman's scent was there, faintly. A woman she just saw at his place of work, according to you."

"Uh-oh." Vamps may not say that magic phrase, but women do.

"_Shit!_" Sam hissed, and raked his hands through his hair. "And then, Sook, she's gonna go to your house—"

They say fear comes down your back like ice. It's more like being gripped around the neck by some greater force, making you distinctly aware that every breath you take is at the leisure of some Higher Power. "So…" I fumbled. "She's going to smell me there, and _him_, and Eric, Bill, and Pam, and—"

"Jesus! She's going to fucking think you were either screwing him, or playing him." Sam rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"And maybe not blame me directly, but blame me indirectly." My lip was bleeding from biting it. Dimly, I wondered where Eric was.

"Yes." Sam leaned over his desk. "Sook, you shouldn't be alone now. When this vampire figures this out—you're going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble."

"Even though we did nothing."

"Well, she doesn't know that, does she?" Sam gave me a steady gaze and I realized what he was saying: _Not that it matters much_. Vampires tend not to worry about precision in revenge.

I shivered as he rose and went to stare out the window, hands on his hips. "Sam, is she going to—is she going to come after you?" I gripped my hands together tightly, as if I were on the bench by the principal's office once again, waiting to hear if I was going to get expelled for announcing the teacher's true thoughts about her students. A tear escaped my eyes. It was one thing for the Supernatural world to throw darts at my picture. I couldn't say that hadn't happened before. But Sam had done nothing.

His hand, warm and comforting, descended on my shoulder for a gentle squeeze. "Don't mind about me. I'll take care of things around here." Sam's hand lingered just a second too long, however, reminding me it was best not to stay there.

"Right, I'll just go and check up on Jason, then." I high-tailed it out to the bar, and grabbed a seat on my own. (Jason, naturally, was already off hanging out with his buddies and not in the mood for company.)

I pulled out my cell phone. How do you condense "Oh, I think the girl vampire may decide I was either sleeping with her man or I set him up to be murdered by you," into text messages? I decided this was a story better kept for later. Instead, I went for the mundane.

"Delivery received, msg not. What did you mean, my favorite?"

I sipped a lemonade one of the girls slid before me, and waited for the response. It wasn't long in coming.

"No reason at all..."

I snorted. Great, he chose _now_ to be coy? Eric was usually honest to the point of being embarrassing. "So you just wanted to make me sticky?" I fired off, before I realized just how badly formed those words were. "Ignore that, please."

"Oh, I think not. I may need to evaluate just how sticky your sweet skin is…Photo, now."

"You wish! I washed my hands, FYI." I typed back quickly.

"Ahhh. I see. You are saying I made you wet?"

I thrust the phone in my pocket with a burning face, having no come-back just now to that particular remark.

"Hey, Sook, I gotta run some quick errands." Jason appeared over my table, and his "errands" appeared to be a brunette across the room. "Can you hang out here for a while? Calvin'll have my ass if he sees you out without me. It'll only take five minutes, okay?"

I waved him on; I'd put the milk in one of Sam's fridges, so I knew it wouldn't boil in the heat outside while we were in the bar. I also knew, knowing Jason, these "errands" would take a few hours, but what did I have to do, anyway? I could just help out a little around the bar and soak in some non-vampire experiences.

Terry Bellefleur turned the TV channel to Oprah—an episode with a vampire crying blood over her inability to lose weight, as Oprah's trainer offered helpful advice, like keeping a gratitude journal.

"Turn the channel, Terry, this woman's full o' shit! All of the vamps around here are hot!" screamed one of the rednecks from the pool table area. Amidst a lot of commentary, including a wave of thoughts all about Fangtasia, I noticed, Terry flipped again, and it was Ellen, trying and failing to keep speed with a vampire dancer. Across the drop-off counter, I could easily imagine Lafayette in the kitchen trying to keep up with both Ellen and the vamp dancer.

"Jesus, is everything about them bloodsuckers?" someone snarled. The channel flipped again, and now we were on one of those MTV shows with young people who dress trashy and appear to do nothing but drink and gossip about each other. The entire bar booed.

"Guess not," muttered the wife of the high school football coach, ensconced in the booth across from me. The coach himself was actually thinking that lead girl's dress looked mighty cute and he wanted to know if she was really going to break up with her boyfriend or not.

People. I shook my head.

The bar picked up and the hours fled. It was already dusk, and still no Jason. He wasn't even answering his phone. ("_Um, yeah, it's Jason. I'm doing shit now but leave a message and I'll call you back, probably.")_ I considered taking the Batmobile back to my house, but every time I started to edge towards the door, Sam would pop up, just a little too bright-eyed and innocently eager to see me. Any doubts I had were immediately confirmed when the front door banged open and Pam strolled in. She had on a white linen pantsuit (for summer, I guessed) and she pushed me, none-too-gently, into a booth.

"I am to take you to my master when you are ready." She opened her purse and retracted a compact so that she could check her make-up. "Do tell me when you are prepared."

"Well, that's just so kind of you, Pam, and _your master_."

She lowered her compact. "Oh, dear. Would this be an attitude I spy?" Her eyebrow, unnaturally perfect, slid upward.

"It would. Why didn't _your master_ tell me to come?"

Her full red lips curved. "Oh, but I'm sure he has."

I made a horrified shushing gesture. Pam shrugged negligently at my mortification. "You cannot tell me he hasn't—"

"You wouldn't know why he sent me cinnamon buns, would you?" I blurted out, just to take her off-track.

Surprisingly, she looked delighted. "He _did_? Oh, how wonderful." I actually believed she meant that, even though her tone was that of a person reading stock numbers out loud. She regarded the high gloss of her nails carefully.

I leaned in suspiciously. "So, what does it mean?"

"Oh, I am sure I do not know. Although you were trying to climb my master as if he were a tree, on the night you were…at Hooligan's. You were most enthusiastic."

I blushed harder. "I know you like to tease me, Pam, but that won't work. You can't make me believe he's not, um, used to his fans."

"Oh, he is. Just not you, my little telepathic friend." She slid a long pale hair behind her ear and smirked full-out at me. "He was most _flattered_." I must've sighed a breath of relief, because then she dropped the second shoe. "And aroused, of course." She chortled. "I'm sure he was in great deal of pain, thanks to you. Have you ever heard the expression, blue--"

"_Pam!" _I glanced around nervously, but the bar was too loud for anybody to have heard her. Not that Pam cared.

She shrugged again. "Really, my dear, isn't it time we had a little talk?" Her fangs emerged. "A little girl talk is good for the soul, isn't it?" And, to my great dread, she winked.

_AN: Sorry for the delay; it's been one of those times when the world's a little crazy. But hey, better crazy than boring, eh? As always, thanks for your thoughts—I appreciate them! _


	66. Chapter 66

"Oh, he is. Just not you, my little telepathic friend." She slid a long pale hair behind her ear and smirked full-out at me. "He was most _flattered_." I must've sighed a breath of relief, because then she dropped the second shoe. "And aroused, of course." She chortled. "I'm sure he was in great deal of pain, thanks to you. Have you ever heard the expression, blue--"

"_Pam!" _I glanced around nervously, but the bar was too loud for anybody to have heard her. Not that Pam cared.

She shrugged again. "Really, my dear, isn't it time we had a little talk?" Her fangs emerged. "A little girl talk is good for the soul, isn't it?" And, to my great dread, she winked.

If I had a chance at protesting, I would have, but this was Pam, and so I just groaned as she gave a sharp nod at Sam, who sent one of the girls our way with a True Blood. (Whether to keep Pam rosy or keep me from being a bar snack, I don't know. Sam did look at me pointedly, and I could almost hear his thoughts—_"This is what you get for hanging out with vamps." _Torture by way of pale ladies in pants suits.)

"Don't we have some catching up to do about last night? Did y'all hear anything from Victor or Evie? Sam thinks Evie might track Jerry to us--"

"No. And that idea has been considered." By whom, I wondered, and when. She smiled like a tiger about to pounce. "We wait now. And plan. So we have time to talk of other things, you and I."

No escape, then. I sighed. "So if I say I'm ready to go now, could we just skip the talk?"

"Not a chance." She winked, and I wondered if perhaps she had some family trees that overlapped with Eric's. Or maybe it was just she'd learned from the evil twinkle he had in his eye whenever he was teasing me. "You wouldn't be ready then, of course."

"Of course," I groaned, and Pam gave up all pretense of courtesy.

"You are living with my master now. Shall I give you a housewarming party?" She said this while digging in a big purse worthy of one of those starlets you see in the gossip magazines. She pulled out a binder and flipped it open. "I have already made plans for the boyfriend/girlfriend party."

"The _what_?"

"I told you I wished to throw a party for you two." Pam's voice was firm as a block of ice, and just as chilly. "And so I will."

I had only one recourse against the universal rule, What Pam Wants, Pam Gets. "Does Eric know about this?"

"No." She lifted an elegant shoulder, sipping her True Blood. "And you will not tell him, or I will throw you a lingerie party and I will invite Eric." She smiled at me across her True Blood; I'd like to think she didn't know how she appeared, red blood dripping off her fangs, but frankly, this was Pam. Scaring the crap out of the Enemy—or in this case, the Stubborn Telepath—was part of her modus operandi (to use a phrase of the day.)

I rubbed my hands against my face tiredly. "So do I want to know what this party entails?"

"Nothing. It will be a very pleasant affair. I will arrange all of it." A pen—platinum, I guessed, for it gleamed as if silver—clicked in her hand. "I have questions to ask you. First, what is your favorite color?

"Favorite?" I blinked stupidly.

"Color." Pam's face gave nothing away.

"Blue?" I knew better than to blurt out what I was thinking (which was, essentially, _what the hell?_), but I leaned forward and saw what she was using. And I groaned.

And that is how I spent a good hour giving Pam material for what were apparently repurposed bridal shower games. Or at least I guessed they were; I'd never heard of a "boyfriend/girlfriend party" in any of the ladies' magazines that were out in the doctors' office lobby, so I was assuming it was just something Pam made up. At any rate, I just prayed to the good Lord, or anybody who would listen, that Pam's little lists and games ended up in a fire somewhere before Eric saw them, or Pam's notations. As she ran through her silly notes, my face burned so much that I was sure I was going to be red for days.

"These games are very informative, I am told. Here, I shall give you some examples. Your first answer to my questions began with a B and the website said that means your first child will have a name that starts with that." She paused. "You will not name the child Bill, will you?"

My voice was embarrassingly loud. "What child? I'm not preg—" Noticing half the bar was looking my way, I lowered my voice and snarled, "No!"

"Excellent. Your second answer began with the letter B, and that means your children will be blondes. Like you. And my master," she added significantly.

I'd like to say she was just messing with my mind, but I saw visions of baby showers dancing in her head. "Pam! I am not having any babies!" Fanged babies, I wanted to say, but I knew then she'd just get mad and ask if I planned to cheat on Eric.

She was nonplussed. "You are not breeding now. We shall see. Now I want to know, what are these lady fingers that they suggest on the menu? Am I to snap off other women's fingers?"

Normal party planners don't look quite so eager about that, I'd venture to guess.

Begging a need to freshen up, I managed to escape her clutches for a few minutes. (Although I was surprised Pam just didn't storm the Ladies' with me—she does take her missions seriously, and I knew she had no compulsion about horrifying me if it meant satisfying Eric's orders.) I kicked myself for leaving my purse at the table; I could've used my cell and checked for Jason again, but then again, he'd probably not have answered his phone, given he had a new toy, so to speak. That done, I dragged my feet back to the bar. Poor Hoyt Fortenberry was there; he was telling everybody at the bar about how his mom had had her appendix out suddenly. I made a mental note to get something for her as a little pick-me-up. Maxine Fortenberry could be a difficult lady, but she was Hoyt's mom, and he'd been nothing but sweet to Jason and to me.

"I have located a baker and a florist we should see for your party. Perhaps a black-and-white design?" Pam asked me as I returned to my seat. And by asked, I mean "told."

"I want to go to a bookstore. I need a gift for a friend," I said, as Pam's face hardened before me. She stared at me, no doubt checking to see if I was lying, and then snorted.

"Very well, but we must report it to my master first." I grumbled, but I had to admit, it made sense; I assumed we'd be taking his car out there, so he should have a say about that since he was up now, I told myself. What if something happened to the Batmobile when we were out doing errands?

"Your Sookie," she said with relish; I rolled my eyes. "--wishes to buy a book. For a friend." She lifted her mouth from the receiver. "This isn't for that fuck Compton, is it?"

"Tell _my Eric_ that _his Sookie_ says that's none of his damn business!"

Pam's lip curled up, allowing me to see the point of a fang. "How adorable your petulance is. Isn't it adorable, Master?" Pam asked into the phone. "I quite agree." She turned to look at me again. "And the question is mine. Are you trying to get something for that pathetic piece?"

"No!"

She tilted her head pointedly toward the bar, where Sam was still giving us both the Eye. I met her, glare for glare. "No!"

"And the tiger is no doubt illiterate. No, master, it is not for a male we must kill. All is well."

"As if it's any of his damn business," I groused again, but she ignored me, exchanging a few comments with Eric before hanging up.

"Come now. I am to drive you to him."

She really did mean she was just driving me, I found out—a half-hour later, we were pulling into the lot of Shreveport's Barnes and Noble. It was quite possibly the biggest bookstore I'd ever seen. Bon Temps' biggest bookshop was a little used shop where Gran used to buy romances by the dozen, and for new books, most of Bon Temps either resorted to the library or whatever Walmart stocked on their aisles. I was more than a little dazed at its size when Pam shoved me out of the Batmobile. "Find him. I will park the car for him."

It wasn't too hard to find him. I met Eric at the front door. He was actually there first, leaning against a column and tossing his cell phone in the air repeatedly. I thought at first he was deep in thought, as he didn't seem to be reacting to the gaggle of teenage girls frozen by the glass doors behind him, all staring quite obviously.

And then I saw the corner of his mouth turned up. _Of course_ Eric knew when he was being admired. Of course, I pointed out to myself, when _didn't_ he think he was being admired?

I sighed, hefted my purse, and walked to the entryway. "Hey, you." My greeting was perfectly PG and appropriate.

He straightened against the column to stand before me. "Hey, _you_." His tone absolutely was not PG and appropriate. I think I heard a girl squeal behind him.

And then I saw why. I was so distracted by Eric's phone (now caught and kept in his hand) that it took me a second to take in the whole view.

"You're wearing…gym clothes? But you don't work out," I said stupidly. It was all I could say. There was Eric, draped in clinging, thin material that looked very, very soft to the touch, that framed all the gorgeous muscles in his big broad shoulders in a way that just made you want to reach out and run your hands all over them. Even the damned zipper of his track suit's jacket taunted me, with its big circle pull tab dangling right at my eye level, tempting me to yank that jacket open and just have at him.

"You do not think I am fit?" Eric's voice was just too sweet. The girls behind him made some kind of hissing comments, probably about me, but I didn't hear them. My eyes flickered up to see the smothered mirth in his. Yup, he'd caught my drooling.

"Oh, hush." Before I knew it, I'd reached forward and grabbed his big hand. Now he was smiling out right, so I turned and tugged us to the door. Moving a 1,000-year-old vamp isn't easy, but in this case, he followed indulgently along, and if the fluttering inside me was any indication, his smile wasn't lessening any.

"I enjoy your outfit. Are you wearing my suggestions beneath it?"

I squeezed his hand hard (not that it would feel that way to him); we were passing the religious section, and while the Good Lord might have a pretty good clue what we'd been up to the last night, I definitely didn't want to spell things out to the little old lady I could see selecting a Bible there.

"You must be," I heard him say behind me. "I believe I can see the line of your—"

I whipped around to shush him, but he was smiling at me, so I knew perfectly well all he'd wanted was to get my goat. Why he hadn't resorted to just pulling my ponytail, I don't know.

"A light color goes very well with your tan, lover," he said a shade too sincerely. Yup, up to no good, that one.

"I am going to get a book for Mrs. Fortenberry. You—"—and here I helpfully pointed at him—"—can go look for books for yourself. You read, I know you do. Now scoot."

"Oh, scoot I will." He turned, oh-so-slowly, to stroll away. I tried not to whimper. The track suit was definitely setting off certain very squeezable parts of his anatomy. _How on earth was it possible to get a butt that tight?_

"Problem, lover?" Eric had turned to grin over his shoulder outright at me. He even put his hands on his hips, just as if he didn't know his spectacular ass was aimed my way. And, I noticed, my mouth going dry, that delicious derriere suspiciously showed not a single sign of VPL. "Need a hand with anything?"

_Bastard_. I fought back the urge to stick my tongue out at him and forced myself to face the bookshelves. It was the dictionary section, I saw at once, but I wasn't going to let Eric know that. "Oh, no, just thinking about what books to buy."

"Excellent." Before I could take in a breath, I felt his lips slide against my temple, and then he was gone, off to look for who-knows-what. Across the aisle from us, a vampire customer (standing by the new "Liquid Diets" section) nodded politely at me; he must've seen us. More than a little flustered, I made myself go in search of the thrillers section, trying not to think of any real-life ones.

It took me a while to settle down (literally, to cool down), and go find Mrs. Fortenberry's favorite author. As I cruised the store, I kept an eye out for my golden-haired partner in, well, resistance to crime, I guess. It wasn't hard to find him, both because of his height, and the fact there was always a woman standing near by, jaw slack and eyes glazed.

Yup, I knew the feeling, I'd think, and then I'd hastily turn my face away before he'd catch me peeking. If he caught me checking up on him, he'd just do something silly like blow a kiss at me or lick his fingers suggestively in my direction. (A lady in the Romance department dropped a whole load of books when he did that.)

He did appear, at least, to be shopping, so I couldn't scold him for trying to distract me. I saw him in the business area, and then in the Literature aisles, and finally I bumped into him in the health area. The sexual health area, I realized, and then did a double-take as he smirked at me above the pages of a sex book.

"Getting ideas?" I couldn't help myself.

He gave me a smoldering look that could probably cause spontaneous panty combustion. "Oh, lover, I could write much more than this."

And then he winked, damn it.

"Sweet mother of God," a lady, staring at us from down the aisle, blurted out.

I ignored her. "I'm sure I don't know," I said loftily, trying very hard to be the lady Gran expected.

"Oh, I am sure you will," he murmured lowly, not taking his eyes off me. My heart surged as if he really did mean to toss me down right there and do what he wanted with me. (The angel on my shoulder was definitely on leave, since all I could hear was the devil on my other shoulder was insisting that was quite all right.)

"Mmmm, well, you wish." I hustled away before I could do anything scandalous, feeling his eyes bore into my back all the way.

I managed to find Mrs. Fortenberry's author and to grab his newest book. I knew she tended to wait to get his books in paperback or at the used store, so I figured she'd not have this one yet. Plus, it was 40% off the hardback price, so it wasn't even that expensive.

That done, I had enough time to move around the store and work on my library list. I had learned pretty early that I couldn't afford to buy every book I wanted; instead, I just jotted down new titles and I'd ask my library for them. The Bon Temps librarians were real nice and we did get most of the most popular authors, so I had no complaints about that. Although it could be a little hard in a bookstore, knowing I was going to have to wait to crack open any of the titles that were catching my eye—like going to a bakery and then going home to make the cakes! But delayed gratification (a previous Word of the Day) could be a good thing, I reminded myself firmly.

I wandered past a few ladies debating some of the new series of vampire/human romances.

"Did you _see_ him?" One lady gripped the arm of another. Her nails were so sharp and bright they were nearly talons, I noticed. "My _God!_" I paused to peek over their shoulders at the display, hoping to catch what book they meant. I had no objection to handsome heroes in my books, after all.

"I think my ovaries exploded just standing near him," the other sighed dramatically. Standing? Well, maybe she meant the display. But they just had a lot of generic roses on the covers, from what I could see. I bit my lip and looked again. "And the _ass_…" I grinned to myself. Clearly, this was a woman of my own tastes.

"The _eyes_…" Talons moaned.

"The shoulders…" gushed Ass Fan.

"The _package_," they both said, and grinned at each other.

"He must've come from some Nordic hotness factory. Though why he'd come to Shreveport, don't ask me." _Come to Shreveport? _Talons grinned at her friend. I fought the urge to bring out my own talons, and apply them to her. "Other than for us, of course. Can't we take a picture of him on your phone?"

"I think he'd notice that!" giggled Ass Fan, that sleazy bitch.

I was tempted to interrupt them—to either distract them from their nasty talk, or remind them that Eric wasn't just some random piece of meat for them to paw, I don't know. Instead, I tried hard to concentrate on good Christian images (instead of the sudden fantasy I had of telling Talons and Ass Fan just what kind of _package_ Eric had, and how I knew it really well), and so I marched away to find the source of the issue. At least standing near him, I figured, I could make sure nobody was taking his picture without him knowing. (A not-too-tiny part of me squirmed and pointed out that Eric probably knew damn well when his picture was being taken, and preening every single time for it.)

I found him finally looking at a book of boats in another section. He was actually crouching down when I walked past him there, and I am sure he did so just so I could see the sliver of bare, eminently strokable back exposed between his jacket and track pants, right above the tight curves of his—well, um, well.

Those pants _did_ fit him very well.

"Find anything?" he murmured, Nordic nose still in his book.

"Aaaagh," I said very intelligently back. What? I just had a frog in my throat. And something else in my eyes. I blinked rapidly as he rose to his feet smoothly, pivoting to look at the book in my hands.

"This is for your friend?" He was frowning.

"Yes, it's the author I mentioned, his new one—what'd you get?" He didn't have to answer me. He had the boat book still in his hands, some novels, and a big, bright blue guide to—

"Scrapbooking?"

"It is Pam's hobby." He shrugged and I tried not to imagine Louisiana's most terrifying bent over a table, worrying about stickers of hearts and roses. "But where is your book?"

"Mine?" It took me a few seconds to figure out what he meant. "Oh, I'm not getting anything for me, Eric. I'm just getting something for Hoyt's mom, that's all." Eric's eyebrows were drawing more closely together with every word I said, and I began to stammer defensively, though I wasn't sure why. "I just wrote down some titles to get at the library, so I'll be fine."

"But you should have a book," Eric said obstinately.

"I can get a book if I want one," I hissed, hoping nobody around us heard. It was bad enough we were having this discussion right here; I definitely didn't want to yell to the high heavens that I thought books were a luxury right now, and I wasn't going to spending money when I didn't need to. "And I don't want one."

Eric's eyes were slits. I knew, without him saying as much, that he didn't believe me (he'd probably say his "bullshit meter" told him so). My face flamed.

"If you were at my house, you would read my books," he said abruptly, still not blinking as he watched me.

"Eric, I'm not sure what you mean."

He folded his arms. "When I am resting, you use my house. You would read the books there, would you not?"

"Yess…." I eyeballed him suspiciously, and I had good reason to do so. He was suddenly propelling us into a nearby section.

"Then I am buying books for my house." His eyes were roaming over the shelves. "Books that will make you comfortable." He waved in general to the shelves. "Which of these do you like? I know you read these; I have seen them at your home." "These," I realized, were romance novels; as I protested that I didn't read Harlequin, Eric pulled out one that had a dark-haired man on the cover, glared, and shoved it back into the shelf.

"Eric—"

My personal book shopper was pulling out books rapidly, glancing at their covers, riffling through their pages, and then pausing to read. (I gathered, from some of the noises he made, that he wasn't looking for moments of high dialogue.)

"Here," he said finally. "I approve of this one."

"So glad to hear that," I snorted, but I couldn't help but check out the big, blond, half-naked warrior on the cover. "What on earth were you looking for?"

"The one to make you miss me the most," he said, grinning over his shoulder as he drew me back toward the main Literature area.

It took another fifteen minutes of haggling (Eric thought I "needed" at least 3 books of my own, while I didn't want him to get any, and if he had to, maybe one) before we got to the cashier; I was a little afraid Eric would try to pay for Mrs. Fortenberry's book as part of his charity kick, but he sailed through the register ahead of me, without even trying to snatch the book from my hands.

Talons and Ass Fan, I saw, were both lurking near the front, too, no doubt eyeballing Eric. I don't know quite what came over me, but something—maybe my inner Jason, or complete insanity—took over me.

"Eric."

He turned in front of the exit, bag in hand. "Yes?"

I slid my free hand up behind his neck and tugged at the back of his hair. Without thought, I was on my tip-toes, and he was following my lead, bending to allow me to kiss him. Eric's no passive participant in any kiss, but he seemed to delight in letting me be the Alpha this time, his open mouth smiling against mine.

I dropped back to the heels of my feet smiling not too little myself. "Thanks."

"Anytime." And I guess just to show me some things didn't change, he waggled his eyebrows and added, "Especially if you offer sex."

That made me laugh, just as he no doubt intended, and we headed out to the Batmobile in a surprisingly light mood for two people whose lives (or existences) were always at stake. (Literally, in Eric's case.) I did shudder, though, as the thoughts of Talon were broadcast to me all the way from the front sidewalk.

"Problem?" Eric glanced my way as we climbed in the car.

"Just eww. People are sick."

He glanced around us. "What makes you say this now?"

"That woman back there wanted to watch us—you know."

"I know?" His eyebrow went up just as his hand threw the car into reverse. We slid out of the parking spot and headed towards the road.

"You should, you were there," I mumbled. Eric seemed to want to wait me out on this one, so I blurted out, "Have sex, silly."

"We have sex?" Eric gave me an innocent glance as we pulled up to a light.

I swatted him on his bicep but he didn't flinch, of course. "Yes, when we make love, goof."

His voice dropped a note; his eyes were straight ahead. "Do we make love, Sookie?"

I saw the light turn green. Without missing a beat, the Batmobile slid forward, as if its driver was fully concentrating on the road. I didn't think he was, though.

The cabin of the car was ringingly, horribly quiet, even though there was a dance song on the radio. I could hear my own heartbeat, it seemed—a heartbeat barreling forward like an out-of-control race car.

I looked down at my hands. Both of his were uncharacteristically on the wheel. "Well, um," I started off, brilliantly, and winced inside. "You were there," I finally muttered.

"So I was." He wasn't helping me any.

I looked out the window and not at Mt. St. Viking next to me. "Yeah, okay, maybe."

I felt his cool fingers slipping across my hands, long fingers intertwining with mine. "Sookie."

The car stopped; I cursed the red light and reluctantly turned back to my driver. The hand holding mine caressed my palm soothingly, but I knew my heart rate was going at a jack rabbit's speed. "Sookie," he said, and I raised my eyes to his. He was lifting up my hand, placing a very soft kiss across my knuckles as he stared at me.

"Oh," I whispered.

And then, just as if to prove he was, after all, my Eric and no imposter, he flipped my hand over and ran his tongue obscenely across the palm.

"You ass," I couldn't help but say, tugging my hand back. The light changed and the car rolled over as he chuckled.

"You love my ass," he said with satisfaction.

"Pfffft."

He laughed again at my scorn. "Ahhhh, lover, how you run." His fingers tapped my chin too quickly for me to grab them. "Never fear, I will catch you yet, my Daphne."

"So now you're a sun god? Horny as one, no doubt."

"Such depths you have, my dear."

"I'll have a lot more if some people have their way. Sam told me Evie might blame me—or even, all of us—for Jerry's death? Would she even know?" Part of me wanted to ask where they'd put his body, and other parts of me said that would be a very bad idea.

Eric suddenly had the car on the side of the road, spinning to me. "Now is not the time for this discussion." Eric's finger tapped his lips. Did he think the car was bugged? Why? And did that mean all of this was just for show? _All _of it? The giddy, swirling feeling in my center suddenly deflated. Did that mean he didn't want—he didn't—

"_GOING TO THE CHAPEL, AND WE'RE GOING TO GET MARRIED…" _blared my phone, and we both jumped. As the words sunk in, I nearly dropped my purse. What did he mean?

"Sookie?" Eric's voice was uncertain as I groped blindly in my purse, looking everywhere but at him.

"You—you changed my ringtone?" I fumbled for words, not quite sure what to say to this particular message. I made the mistake of looking over at him, at bright blue eyes glowing in that way he had, of putting everything into them, making me want to say words I'd surely regret. My mouth ran dry.

"I did not?" He seemed as off-balance was I was, his eyes scouring my face as if the answer to some spell was there.

"Oh." The thought fell on me like a brick on my head. "Pam," I mumbled, still dazed, still captured my eyes.

"Pam," he agreed, but soberly. And then it occurred to me, the phone had gone silent.

"Oh, hell, the phone!" I wrenched my eyes from his, trying to ignore the way my breathing was accelerated, my heart rate wild. My hands dove in my purse, snatching out the phone as if it were a lifesaver. I flipped it over in my hand. The number was familiar, but it took me a second, in my surprised state, to register it. Eric had already leaned over shamelessly to see it; his face already had a sour cast when I blurted out, "It's Quinn!"

_AN: For those who asked about the cinnamon buns, go check out what kinds of food Sookie mentions during her drunken ramblings. I think you'll find the answer there. And thanks as always for your thoughts! Your feedback is much appreciated. : ) _


	67. Chapter 67

"I'll have a lot more if some people have their way. Sam told me Evie might blame me—or even, all of us—for Jerry's death? Would she even know?" Part of me wanted to ask where they'd put his body, and other parts of me said that would be a very bad idea.

Eric suddenly had the car on the side of the road, spinning to me. "Now is not the time for this discussion." Eric's finger tapped his lips. Did he think the car was bugged? Why? And did that mean all of this was just for show? _All _of it? The giddy, swirling feeling in my center suddenly deflated. Did that mean he didn't want—he didn't—

"_GOING TO THE CHAPEL, AND WE'RE GOING TO GET MARRIED…" _blared my phone, and we both jumped. As the words sunk in, I nearly dropped my purse. What did he mean?

"Sookie?" Eric's voice was uncertain as I groped blindly in my purse, looking everywhere but at him.

"You—you changed my ringtone?" I fumbled for words, not quite sure what to say to this particular message. I made the mistake of looking over at him, at bright blue eyes glowing in that way he had, of putting everything into them, making me want to say words I'd surely regret. My mouth ran dry.

"I did not?" He seemed as off-balance was I was, his eyes scouring my face as if the answer to some spell was there.

"Oh." The thought fell on me like a brick on my head. "Pam," I mumbled, still dazed, still captured my eyes.

"Pam," he agreed, but soberly. And then it occurred to me, the phone had gone silent.

"Oh, hell, the phone!" I wrenched my eyes from his, trying to ignore the way my breathing was accelerated, my heart rate wild. My hands dove in my purse, snatching out the phone as if it were a lifesaver. I flipped it over in my hand. The number was familiar, but it took me a second, in my surprised state, to register it. Eric had already leaned over shamelessly to see it; his face already had a sour cast when I blurted out, "It's Quinn!"

Eric had the advantage of vampire speed. Before I could object, his white hand closed around the phone, plucked it from my hand, and tossed it in the back of the car.

I was too shocked to exclaim at first, but then the words came out in angry rush. "What the hell is the matter with you? How dare you!" I got even madder when he brushed my hands away from turning on the light at the top of the cabin; I heard the doorlocks click and knew, at some gut level, he'd turned on the child locks, too. "Eric Northman, don't you _dare_—"

He gave me that eyebrow-up expression that just made me want to slap him. And do other things, too, but slapping was #1 on my list right then. "Now is not the time for the phone. Not even for the walking rug."

The car was flying again, a fact I barely registered through my anger. All of the uncertainty of before hardened into easy rage. "So that's it? After all that—after making me feel—damn it, now you're Mr. Asshole, trying to tell me who to call? Who died and made you God?"

"I was made vampire, not a deity, lover. But you may worship me as you like," he murmured unrepentantly, his lips turning up in a grin. That smile was the red flag to the bull of my temper; a surge of emotion barreled through my system. I wanted to yell, to slap him, to tell him I hated him and his high-handed ways, to ask him why I couldn't trust him, couldn't trust us. He glanced over at me again, still smiling enigmatically. "And no, you do not hate me, my darling, not matter how you may try to convince yourself otherwise."

"Don't be too sure of that," I said hotly, and threw myself into the busy job of sulking the rest of the way. If I wasn't going to be treated respectfully, and I certainly wasn't going to be allowed to leave the car, then I'd just give Eric the company he deserved—very, very bad company.

But it didn't seem to rock Eric in the slightest, a fact that made me all the more unsettled and all the more cranky. You'd think, if he really gave a fig about my emotions, he'd be backpedaling and trying to make up for that asinine behavior with the phone. You'd think he'd be hurt, or wondering, as I was, how everything that had seemed so right had just gone to hell in a handbasket (again). Was this all there was between us, giddiness punctuated by freak-outs at the hands of one jealous, controlling vampire?

We ripped through the evening fog and into Fangtasia, where Eric popped out of the car in a flash. Pam popped up right by my door, almost causing me to shriek; before I could ask what she was doing, she was sliding in, and pulling off in the car.

I was too proud to break down and ask Eric where she'd gone. Instead, I just bit my lip and looked around. The building was uncharacteristically quiet, because it was the bar's off evening. I felt a hand at my neck and ground my teeth. The night was too misty for me to see where we were headed, but I knew by instinct he was steering me to Fangtasia's back door. I put my foot down. "I'm not in the mood to go anywhere with you right now, big boy."

"Big boy?" He frowned down at me, barely illuminated by the fog-cloaked lights at the end of the lot. The door light beyond us was broken, so there was only Eric's natural whiteness lighting him for me, and he was still obscured by the mists. I tried to read his face, which was scowling. I wasn't sure if Eric was wondering about the hamburger reference or whether he was insulted I called him a boy, but I didn't care.

"You. The jackass who threw my phone in the back of the car and then treated me like a slow four year old who couldn't make her own choices. I thought I'd made it clear that I've had enough of that crap in my life, and I won't accept it from anybody." I folded my arms, trying to make my body language speak for me: if he tried to force me along with him, I'd not go easily. I waited triumphantly for some acknowledgement of his crimes.

"Ahhh, yes. The jackass who was worried about bugging," Eric said smoothly. "The sheriff who was told by his second-in-command that her car was found bugged today. Ahhh, yes. That would be me, correct?"

"You—" Before I could finish my speech, however, Eric threw up a hand, both silencing me and shoving me roughly behind him. I gripped his shirt nervously.

There was a long, long minute of silence, punctuated only by my stifled breathing and the rasp of crickets. The wall of Eric's back was rigid in front of me; I felt his muscles tense beneath my palm.

"Leave or die, the choice is yours," he said, too quietly, to the night.

No one answered. My hands flattened against the cold brick of Fangtasia's building, I prayed fervently for Pam to show up, for any of the vamps to turn up and make it clear that it wasn't just Eric, the fog, and me, his great liability.

"I will kill you," he said simply, still speaking to the night. "Make your move."

The attack came too suddenly for me to even scream—there was a punch of air in my direction, a male scream, a howl, and the sound of bodies hitting the pavement.

"Eric!" Automatically, my hands seized the nearest thing to me—the lid of a garbage can—and I dove forward.

My efforts at helping didn't do much—something slammed into my ankle, bringing me down with a cry. In the dark, I heard Eric release a guttural growl, and then there was a sickening crunch.

"Who sent you," Eric hissed, maybe two arm lengths ahead of me. Whoever he had said nothing; I pushed out my mind to catch their thoughts, and got nothing more than the usual snarl of the were.

"What are you doing here? We are friends of the pack!" Technically, I was the friend of the pack, not Eric, and there were many packs out there, but I figured Friend of the Pack worked a bit like the Friends of the Police stickers people would get for making donations. Even if you were in another state, you expected policemen to go more kindly to you for that.

"Fuck you, woman!" snarled the were—but just momentarily, as he screamed out in agony next. I had a feeling I would be glad not to know just how Eric had elicited that response.

"Speak or die," Eric snapped, but the were just yelled something nasty. "To hell," Eric said, with a little too much satisfaction, and I heard a very final snap, followed by the distinctive noise of feeding. Sickened, I looked aside. Even though I couldn't see Eric in action, and even though I definitely didn't think he didn't have the right to defend himself, there were some things I just didn't want to see.

"There," he said finally, his voice thick. I heard ruffling, and then motion, as if Eric were standing up. "You are injured?"

"No, not really." My ankle would probably be bruised, and maybe my hip from the fall, but that's about it. I sniffed and sighed; _of course_ the stupid garbage can would fall over and _of course_ I'd be in the middle of the muck.

Naturally. With a man who had supernatural senses, of course.

"You may not be injured, but you stink," said Prince Undead Charming.

"Thanks a bunch." I felt his hands clamp down on my waist as I started up—maybe to steady me, maybe to cop a feel, I'm not sure.

"Welcome." His hand tightened, this time across my butt—yep, it wasn't there to steady me. I should've known. Fights were Eric's personal aphrodisiac. I ran my hands over what parts of him were near me—at least he wasn't injured, from what I could tell.

"Are you okay?"

"Nothing you could not kiss and make better." Even in the misty dark, I could feel his leer. Apparently, the garbage wasn't enough to stop a hot-to-trot Viking.

I put my hand on Eric's chest, to stop him and to feel the reassuring strength there, I'll admit. "Should we search the—the—him?" I finally blurted out. It wasn't a job I was looking forward to, to be honest.

"Done. Nothing essential."

"Do you think," I paused and swallowed, my hand wadding up in the softness of his jacket. "Do you think we should scope out the place?" Images of killers hiding from us danced in my head, like a sadistic Sugar Plum Fairy dream.

"That is a rinse for humans, is it not?" Eric apparently wasn't floored by surprise attacks, or by killing his would-be murderers, but English idioms did him in. I explained rapidly.

"Oh, no. This will be it. If he had come with back-up, the time to strike would have been when we were fighting. Not only was I down---for a moment, you understand—but you were there."

"I had a defense!" Yes, filth and a garbage can lid, but my pride wouldn't let me pretend I'd just been lounging around like a teenage girl in a woods by Michael Meyers.

"You are very resourceful, but a were would not know that." His hands squeezed me.

"So what—what the hell _was_ this? And what are we going to do about the body?" My voice dropped on the last words, whispering it automatically. Sure, it was self-defense (well, up until the draining, but I was pretty sure the were was gone by then), but I definitely didn't want any cops strolling into this scene.

"It was another mercenary." He shrugged. "And paid, no doubt, by whoever sent your friend Jerry to his death. I wish to discuss that with you. As for the were, Pam will tend to the rest." I had the impression, without him even saying it, that by the "the rest" he meant the corpse. I shivered.

It was on the tip of my tongue to protest—after all, who wants to deal with a dead body? And I knew well enough, from personal experience, that dealing with bodies by oneself is an awful job—but then I remembered about whom we were talking.

Oh, hell. Pam'd probably like dealing with the dead were.

That brought me back to where we'd been before the attack. "Pam's car was bugged?"

"You may ask her yourself, if you do not believe me. Feel free to call her on your phone now." He had moved around me to the door again, right under the small security light. I saw, in his hand, a glint of red that I knew was my cell, somehow retrieved from the back of the car. He held it half-way out with one hand, while propping open the Fangtasia employee door with his other hand. "She's taking the new car to search it now. She will return shortly."

I hesitated by the door; Eric leaned against it, watching me as I debated following him into the bar or keeping the fight going here. But it was already done, I knew. I had no energy to fight him, and no will to do so.

"How did she find out?" I asked slowly.

"Pam has taken to checking her car regularly for tracking devices, after the incident with yourself." He was still watching me closely.

"You were winding me up for no reason, weren't you?" He said nothing, but his lips curved up a little. "You did, didn't you? All of that back there, that was just to wind me up?"

"Not all," he said, turning into the bar, but not before I saw something curious on his face. I followed him, distracting myself by trying not to observe that he'd put his hands into his pockets, which stretched the now-dusty fabric nicely over some parts of his anatomy. His voice drifted over his shoulder. "Merely on matters pertaining to Evie and Victor. It is best our thoughts on that not be overheard." We were at his office—I nearly ran into him from behind as he opened the door. "Likewise with your call. If the zoo animal has word on your little friend Jerry and his associates, it is to our advantage that we alone know this."

Oh, hell. The obnoxious truth smacked me in the face: Eric had been right. Eric had been (relatively) innocent. And I'd behaved badly to him. Let alone the teeeeeeny little issue of him brawling out there, presumably to help me as well as to protect himself. I bit my lip anxiously. I didn't know the code for vampires, but I knew full well the code of my gran, and that included apology. Whether you really wanted to do so, or not.

"Eric," I began, but he waved me off.

"I need to deal with some matters. And you, my smelly darling, need a shower." He wrinkled his nose, although he was already in his chair and I was only in the doorway of his office. He pointed at his closet. "You may use my clothing."

"Well, gee, thanks," I grumbled, but not as rudely as I'd liked. The need to apologize hung heavily about my neck as I trotted off to Eric's closet (which contained not just the big Fangtasia T-shirt I grabbed, but random pieces of clothing like some old ties, and lycra bike shorts, which I noted for future reference. What? You never know when you want to get a Viking on a bike.)

Fortunately, the shirt worked out fine: Because of his great height, it fit me almost like a dress, although where he stretched the fabric at the shoulders, I stretched the fabric across the chest. Thankfully, unlike the incident with the maenad ("bitch," I muttered, just because she wasn't there to scare the crap out of me), I could still use my original, Eric-approved lingerie.

I hurried through the shower—even if Fangtasia was not open, Lord knows who else would show up. Even without creeps trying to jump us in the lot, there could still be strange types prowling inside Fangtasia, friendly, maybe, but not the types I wanted to see in the tiny employee shower. I definitely didn't want to see Bill to come sneaking up on me, or Pam, or goodness knows, Bubba, or, of course, Eric. (I knew he was really busy or distracted over the attack, because normally, showering is right up there with fighting, in terms of Eric's hobbies. And he does it very well, I must say. He likes to be squeaky-clean, all over. What? I'm just a girl who likes cleanliness, that's all. It's next to godliness, you know.)

I grabbed my tower, gave myself a quick rub-down, and hurried back into the clothing. My hair was still wet, but the club wasn't so cool that I was shivering from the temperature. Instead, I hustled back to Eric's office, just feeling the pressure to get on with my goal from before.

I could just imagine Pam's face if she ever got wind of any of this. I swallowed and reminded myself that after all I'd done so far in my life, this would be nothing. "Eric," I mumbled.

He lifted his golden head from the desk, where he'd been rapidly jotting something down. There was not a drop of dirt or blood on his face now; he must've tidied up a little since I hopped into the shower. "Yes? You are well?" His eyes rapidly scanned me, as if searching for some awful wounds I wouldn't have discovered earlier.

"I'm fine. It's not about that. It's about—about earlier. When we were in the car." I stood before the desk, shifting from side to side in my bare feet, feeling both absurd and incredibly small. I twisted my hands, uncertain of how to begin.

"Yes, my dove?" He must've smelled blood in the (proverbial) air; he beamed his obnoxious angel's smile at me. Any embarrassment I felt fled. I glared.

"I'm sorry, you ass," I grumbled. "I'm sorry I made assumptions and was a jerk."

"What was that, my dear?" I made a rude noise and an even ruder hand gesture, but he just laughed, and I couldn't resist chuckling a little, too.

"You're incorrigible!" (It was one of my Words of the Day for the last month.) Out of sheer impulse—or sheer stupidity—I slid behind his desk chair to wrap my arms around his neck and shoulders, giving him a squeeze.

He caught me before I could slide my hands away; one of his hands clamped down on mine, locking them as they were, at the top of his chest. "I have decided I enjoy this. You may…what is the phrase Pam has used?" I could almost feel him frown beneath my hands, concentrating. "That which I must not do to the employees…Oh, yes. Sexual harassment."

"You? Never!"

He cheerfully ignored my snide comment. "As I told her. Who would refuse my attentions? And feel free to unzip me, lover."

"Why, thank you," I muttered. But as if to illustrate his point, my fingers slid into the bare space at the neckline of his tracksuit, toying with the soft skin and light hairs there. I shouldn't have stroked his ego, but my hands definitely wanted to stroke his pecs.

The healthy rush of his physical presence didn't obliterate the guilt I still felt, though. My hands stilled. "Eric, I really am sorry about before."

He leaned back in his chair, the picture of relaxation. Or smug satisfaction, I thought, but I guessed he had a right to it. (For once.) From his profile, I could tell he had closed his eyes, although his lips were turned up in that enormous grin again. "What a wonderful night. I have a new book, new blood, and my little kitten has put her claws away for once." He turned his head to speak across his shoulder to me; one eye opened just to wink at me. "Although I appreciate the claws at certain times, of course."

I swatted him on the width of his shoulder. (His shoulders had a big span; Jason had asked me once just how early vamps got up, and I had had an awful image of him soliciting the Fangtasia crew to join his little adult football weekend games, not realizing that most vamps would think nothing of truly killing any opposition to get their victory.) "You really are a barbarian, Eric, did you know that?"

If he did (and I'm sure he did), he didn't get the chance to say, because my phone went off again. This time, though, it wasn't easily accessible to me. Eric had apparently dropped it on his couch as he entered his office. I jumped forward to grab it, but my track suited terror had shot forward even faster than I had.

"Has he nothing to do but call you?" he growled, bending over the couch to grab the phone. I knew what he was going to do, and it would start with "embarrass" and end with "me."

"Stop that!" Automatically, I grabbed at his belt, intending to give him a sharp tug and remind him that he was holding my property. (Never mind he'd gifted it to me; he gave it to me because he broke the first one, anyway.) I could hardly out-wrestle him for the phone, after all.

But my hands didn't catch the hard line of any belt. Instead, they curled over the edge of his soft track suit, and when my fingers automatically gave that waistband a sharp tug, well—Eric suddenly was very much like that little baby on the suntan lotion bottle, with his bare (and beautiful) bottom exposed to the world. _Why hello, buns of steel._

I didn't have time to reflect on Eric going commando, or just how much fun it was to yank his pants half-off, or the words I heard him saying. ("Lover, if you intend to free part of my anatomy, this is not the best side…")

I couldn't concentrate on any of that, because Pam had opened the door and she stood there, arms folded, her face devoid of any emotion.

"Really, Sookie. You do know it goes the other way around, don't you?"

I squeaked, still clutching his waistband. Eric had yet to fully straighten from the couch (possibly because of the danger of other parts becoming exposed). "She cannot keep her hands off of me, Pamela."

"Is this the reason you are always asking now if your pants make your ass look good?" she asked, far too innocently, and sashayed into the room. I unfroze, hurriedly sliding Eric's pants back up, and he turned around nonchalantly, as if he hadn't been just mooning the room. Of course, I knew it didn't bother him—Eric wouldn't have the slightest hesitation about strolling around naked midday on Jackson Square in New Orleans—but still.

"My bottom always looks good. Am I correct, Sookie?" He accepted a folder from Pam, but took a moment to send a smirk my way.

"Hush, you. Where is my phone?"

He'd dropped it during the Pants-Off incident (which I guess showed how surprised he was at my "handsiness," to use Gran's word) so I grabbed it off the couch.

"Quinn again," he told me, even before I checked the screen. Eric's tone indicated he wasn't thrilled with this.

"Isn't there a circus in town?" Pam was equally thrilled.

I didn't pay attention to their mutual sneers; I turned on the speakerphone and played the voicemails. Quinn's voice sounded typically warm and sure on the phone._ "Babe, call me. He's got your name written on his desk, too. What the hell is going on?" _

"You tell me," I muttered, and hit the next voicemail.

"_Hey, babe, just a message to keep an eye out. I don't know what the hell's going on, but my secretary got a call and left, and I saw your street name written down on his desk. Don't know if it's important—" _(Eric hissed)—"—_but be careful, okay? Call me, babe, and I'll make it all good for you if I can. You know you miss a hot-blooded guy who can really satisfy—"_

I am sure we all looked at the phone in my hand. I couldn't look over at my current bedmate, who was staring right at me. I don't know what Eric was thinking. I just knew my flush sizzled in my skin, and I hurried to hit the "delete" button.

"What a stupid ass," Pam declared. "And I do not mean your lovely ass, my master. I mean this creature is a fool. Would you not agree, Sookie?"

"I'm glad you're more worried about that than the fact the red-headed stepchild is apparently after me now!"

Both vamps looked at me unblinkingly. I let out a gusty sigh of frustration. For all they'd lived here far longer than I had, idioms sometimes slipped the vamp mind. "Okay, inside joke, never mind that. I meant, Quinn's secretary—Jerry's brother, mind you—is out for me, and you're way too chipper about this."

Pam reacted first, shrugging. "We will deal with him, Sookie. A mortal does not trouble me." As if to reassure me, she added, "I will snap his neck and drain him whole."

That Pam. What a charmer.

Eric's voice interrupted my thoughts. "No mortal will touch you, Sookie. No doubt this particular one is interested in the whereabouts of his brother, and we had predicted that." By "we" he apparently meant Pam, as they exchanged a pointed look. I knew that look, and it meant trouble. For me.

"Whoa there, y'all can stop with the secret vamp communication and let me in on what's going on here."

"We're just thinking about your dear Quinn," Pam purred. Somehow, her effort at sounding friendly to Quinn made her sound all the more menacing.

"He definitely needs to stop. But don't you do anything about it!" I knew well enough how vamps dealt with "annoyances," thanks to Bill's behavior. I was so alarmed I actually made eye contact with Eric, who now just had a smile twitching about his mouth.

"Of course not," he said only. His lips, full, soft lips, started to turn up as I watched in fascination.

"You two are ridiculous. Why you do not just mate, I do not know," Pam declared. Eric's eyebrow slid upwards pointedly and she grinned, fangs fully out.

That broke the momentary spell. I flushed and looked aside, deciding to take a seat on the couch. Eric went back to his desk chair, and Pam found her own seat.

"You saw our visitor outside?"

"Disposed of." She sniffed. "You should have saved me some."

"What is refrigerated to fresh?" I _so_ did not want to imagine what they were discussing. My brain, however, helpfully provided me with the images anyway. _Good thing you've got a strong stomach, Stackhouse._

"That is true," she sighed regretfully.

"The car?"

"Clean, master. No one had touched it."

"Good." Eric leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head. He was still so long that I thought he'd gone into downtime, but then he spoke. "Our friend Victor is desperate."

"Is this new?" I couldn't help myself.

Pam shot me a dirty look, no doubt for not being respectful of the pronouncements from On High. In Eric's case, On Very High. "He has killed the human of his own minion, we believe."

"I get that, but wasn't he desperate before that? Isn't attempting to make in-roads here, in Eric's Area, against vamp rules?"

"And so it is." Eric spun around in his chair, sliding his feet under the desk and looking at me straight-on. "You are correct. He was out of line before. The difference now, however, is that he is acting irrationally." Eric said this as if he were the prince of logic. "To kill his minion's human should be beneath him."

That line of thinking made me more than a little uncomfortable, I'll admit. "Shouldn't all of this be? I mean, no offense to this Area," I added, because both Eric and Pam were giving me fixed blank looks. "But isn't he supposed to be in Vegas, hanging out with de Castro or whatever?"

"He needs money. He believes he can undermine and eventually remove me, I am sure." Eric's voice, soft and cool, betrayed no fear, but I shivered for him."

Pam turned to me. "Eric was the only sheriff to remain in place, after the take-over. Of all the Louisiana sheriffs, my master would be the one Felipe would doubt, for he was not made sheriff by Felipe."

"And now he is resorting to attacking his own minions. And now, what is mine. Not well done." Eric drummed his fingers on the desk, then spun to Pam.

"I have decided."

She nodded respectfully.

He spun back to me.

"We are going to Vegas."

_AN: Thanks as always for your thoughts—I truly appreciate each and every one!_


	68. Chapter 68

Pam turned to me. "Eric was the only sheriff to remain in place, after the take-over. Of all the Louisiana sheriffs, my master would be the one Felipe would doubt, for he was not made sheriff by Felipe."

"And now he is resorting to attacking his own minions. Not well done." Eric drummed his fingers on the desk, then spun to Pam.

"I have decided."

She nodded respectfully.

He spun back to me.

"We are going to Vegas."

I wasn't shocked—being with Supes all the time, you kind of have to pick your moments for that particular emotion—but I definitely wasn't swallowing this easily. "I beg your pardon?"

"We will fly to Vegas. This can no longer be handled locally." He spun back to Pam. "Get the tickets."

"It will be done." Pam nodded reverently.

"Tonight. You, me, Sookie. And I want a guard arranged for Sookie." Eric and Pam seemed to stare at each other a fraction too long, and Pam nodded her head.

I didn't have time for their secret vamp messages. "You're just going to snatch me up and haul me to Vegas without my say-so? Aren't I even going to be asked?"

"No." Give it to Eric to be straightforward. "It is necessary."

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "So say I agree to this—and I'm not, mind you—you want me to leave right now? I don't have anything to wear!" I didn't mean to whine but I figured Pam would back me up on this particular point. Clothing can be like weapons and my shorts and t-shirts weren't going to cut it.

I figured wrong. "You do too. I bought you items that will work."

"But—"

Don't debate clothing with Pam. She was not smiling at me. Not that Pam is very smiley at all, but her lack of smile was particularly chilling right now. "But what? Do not be foolish. You have clothing at Eric's." She waved her hand in her lap. "And who knows what you would buy if let out to choose items for yourself." She glanced over at Eric. "Did you know she has a dress made of the material from those hideous red handkerchiefs the locals carry?" She turned back to me. "It is only because you are a woman that I have let you live, after that."

"I do not care what she wears." Eric grinned fangily at me. This could've been a compliment in another context, but I saw the sparkle in his eyes, a telltale wicked gleam that told me just what he was thinking. I groaned. At least he _was_ telling the truth.

"Of course not. You're just as bad," Pam complained. "Look at you. You are wearing the athletic outfit I purchased." She turned to me. "Abby says Casual Fridays help morale at work places, so I prepared one for Fangtasia." Her scarlet nails pointed across the desk. "I had casual wear made up for us, even though it is an abomination." She rolled her eyes. "And you see, he wears it even when it is not the Casual Friday and when it is not necessary!"

Eric was unrepentant. "Sookie seems to enjoy it."

"Of course she would." I wanted to protest, but Pam was on a roll. "And do you see, he is wearing those hideous shoes that show his toes. I have seen more of your toes this past month than in the past 100 years, Master. Why you do not burn those abominations, I do not know."

Eric stretched back and made sure his flip-flop clad feet were pointed in Pam's direction. "Easy removal, of course. Now, let us make our arrangements."

"I still haven't said I'm going!"

Pam snorted. "She must be afraid to fly. Or of joining the mile-high club. You, Sookie, would be the only one eligible; _he_ has already achieved that status." Now Pam's fangs slid out, and she smirked across the desk to Eric. They looked at each other, as if in secret communication, and then both laughed out loud.

A hot flash of something unpleasant struck me; I pushed the emotion away. "If you two are done reminiscing, could we please finish this. Some of us want to sleep." I folded my arms over my chest.

Eric's head swiveled sharply in my direction. Pam regarded me with the cocked head of a curious parrot. "Why, master, you have a jealous human." He growled her name softly, but she went on. "Don't be disgusting, Sookie. As if I would want _that." _We both looked over at Eric, stretched out and currently unzipping his jacket to reveal how his thin shirt barely covered his chest muscles.

"Well, at the present time," Pam amended.

I'm not sure if we were both struck dumb or not, but it took another minute before Eric's voice penetrated my consciousness. He was shooting instructions to Pam again—flights, times, the hotel, and who would watch Fangtasia. (My gut said I ought to object at the evil way they both grinned and mentioned Bill's name, but my gut also knew not to get involved in vamp business if I could help it.) They were agreement on just about everything, until Eric was rattling off the final room arrangements.

"I do not want a room near yours. I am told you two have very loud sex," Pam noted, as if she were speaking about, say, the fact our hair color was the same. "It is very distracting."

I really didn't want to know where she'd heard that one, I decided.

The next few minutes went in a blur—Eric and Pam were both working their phones, hissing at a speed far too quick for me to figure out what was meant. Pam disappeared for a bit, and then Eric and I were driving to his house, to rummage through his closets for clothing. I was, naturally, freaking out, and Eric nearly got his head bitten off (not literally) when he tried to suggest I'd look fantastic naked and so clothing wasn't a worry. I guess he realized I wasn't in a mood for play, because he then just went back to his phone, and I grabbed mine to fill in Amelia on the details.

"Should I call Sam?" I asked her, keeping my voice low. Sure, Eric could probably hear me wherever he was in the house, but that didn't mean I wanted to invite a fight. I was on leave, so to speak, but I didn't think Sam considered me leaving the area part of the deal.

"Nah, he'll just have a fit. I'll keep an eye on things around here. Don't go and get drunk, okay? I don't want to think about the fall-out if you end up marrying Big, Blond and Bad and don't realize it until later."

"Yeah, right, sure." I rolled my eyes. What sort of idiot did she take me for? Besides. "I don't think he'd let that happen, anyway."

"Mmmm, yeah, right. You keep telling yourself that, girl."

And on that puzzling note, we parted.

I managed to squeeze in a few hours of sleep before the Anubis cars were to come along for us. Since we were so close to dawn, both Pam and Eric would be flying with their coffins. I'd be in a regular seat, and so would be my bodyguard. According to Eric, it was a surprise; he'd definitely had a naughty gleam in his eye when he'd said that, so I was dreading this meeting. (Who could it be? My mind wandered. After all that had passed, and the connections between Jerry and the Red Room, I didn't think Eric would call in Alcide. Claude? Unless we had some good-looking stewards, I had my doubts he'd show up. Lord, I hoped it wasn't that Bobby Burnham, who always acted like I was a boil on his butt. Who else could it be, who would be available in the day?)

I got my answer soon, too soon. I checked in easily under the name Pam had arranged. (She didn't tell me beforehand, probably because she knew I'd pitch a fit at being called "Erica Nordman.") We were to be the only people (or vamps, I guess) on the plane, so there was plenty of room. I had just taken a seat by the window, clutching an armload of gossip magazines and newspapers Pam had sent orders for me to buy at the airport gift shop. They were so frivolous that otherwise I wouldn't have splurged on them, but I had to say, I was glad to have them as I looked forward to the boring hours of flight ahead of us. I was just flipping through a new article on whether a vampire baby would separate Angelina and Brad, when my seatmate dropped into the chair next to me.

"Heya, Sooks!"

"_Jason?_"

If he thought that was a stupid question (and it was), he didn't react. He just grinned and flexed his arms, managing to take up every square centimeter of space around me. "How about this, huh? A free trip to Vegas! I knew your vampers were cool!"

"How—where—" I sputtered unintelligibly before my tongue decided to cooperate. "Where have you been?"

"Here, there. You know how it is." He grunted as he adjusted his jeans.

"So was that girl at Merlotte's your new woman?" I asked tartly. It was rude of me, and Gran probably would've tanned my hide for it, but I couldn't help myself.

"Who?" I reminded him, wondering to myself how many women he could've met in the last day. "Ahhh, yeah. Well, she was kind of weird—asked a lot of questions, you know what I mean? I'm not saying we won't get together sometime, it's not like that." Jason prided himself on rarely dumping women, as if that somehow made him a real catch. That he achieved this by simply cheating non-stop on any of his girlfriends did not occur to be a problem to him. "But I got tired of her always asking about me, you, hell, even your men, you know what I mean?" He adjusted himself again impatiently. "So yeah, don't know what will happen there."

I knew, and he probably did, too—absolutely nothing. I sighed and went to the next question in my head. "How did you get into this?"

"That girl vamp called me—you know, the chick who works for your big man. I didn't know she had my digits, but she apparently was real interested in ol' Jay here." He winked and nudged me with his elbow. I fought the urge to explain just why Pam was so interested in Jason (or not). "So she said she'd been talking to Calvin 'cause she needed a little help with something, and he suggested me, and lookee, I'm here!" He kicked out his legs, successfully taking up the aisle in front of us. "Plus, your big man pays real well, so thanks for that, sis." He winked. "Course I'd have helped you for free, but he don't know that, right?" Jason actually looked proud of himself.

Now I knew just why Eric had been smirking as he kissed my forehead before going off to the "Loading Area." (Loading meaning "Getting into your coffin." For some reason, vamps were really sensitive about humans seeing this, so that area was strictly vampire-only, like a supernatural locker room of sorts.) Jason wasn't just a bodyguard—he was a _busy_guard. Jason, sure as the sun rises, would be looking for trouble, and no doubt Eric figured I'd be kept too busy chasing after him to get into whatever plans he had for the Vegas vamps.

I groaned inside. It was an effective way of keeping me occupied, I had to admit it. But I wanted to be part of whatever was going on, since it would inevitably involve me, anyway. I grabbed my cell and texted a certain Viking irritably:

"_Having my brother around will NOT put me in a happy mood, just FYI."_

I tucked the phone aside as we prepared for take-off. Jason had stolen one of my magazines (not that I would refuse to share, I told myself virtuously, but the point was in asking) and was loudly commenting on the physique of some tiny blond actress he admired.

"I saw her in a superhero movie—damn, she could really wear some superhero suit, y'know what I mean?" He apparently saw the attractive waitress for our cabin, and added, a little too loudly, "But I have seen prettier girls. How are you, miss?" He flashed her the famous Jason Stackhouse smile and leaned away from me. As if his body language wasn't enough, he added, "That's my little sister. I'm taking her to Vegas." He slung an arm around me so suddenly I almost spilled my complimentary juice. "She don't get out much, ya know?" I froze, feeling I was one second away from getting a noogie.

The stewardess smiled at Jason as if he had just cuddled a puppy in front of her. "Why, aren't you a sweet brother."

"I try." Jason smiled sweetly. Next to him, yours truly, the subject of the Get Sookie Traveling Charity, fumed silently. Butter couldn't melt in his mouth, oh, no. I tried not to roll my eyes too obviously.

"Well, let me see if I can get you something sweet, for being so nice to your sister," the stewardess offered.

"I do like sweet things," Jason shot back, and both giggled.

Lord help me. My phone buzzed next to me, so I checked the incoming text: _"Pam informed me he was looking for extra funds. I thought you would be pleased."_

Uh-huh. And he also had a bridge to sell me. Fingers flying, I shot back a new text:

"_You know I wouldn't tell you to spend your money on him."_

He apparently was having a really alert phase, because he got back to me just as quick as I'd answered him. _"You would not let me spend it on you."_

Alert, alert! Red flags went up in my head, and I paused before answering. The TV had finally come on, I noticed; Jason was watching some old showings of "Everybody Loves Raymond." He was laughing hysterically, although for the life of me, I didn't see why.

"_Let's not fight," _I typed back, sighing. _"How's your trip going?"_

"_I am comfortable. I would be more so if you were here."_

"_Naked, no doubt_." I meant to just cut off his teasing, but I realized right away those weren't good words to use.

"_I love how you talk dirty to me, lover. Keep it up. This trip may be most…entertaining." _A few seconds passed, and then I received another beep. _"I never did see the lovely lingerie I chose for you. I am desolate. :K" _

I peeked over at Jason, but he was still stuck in "Raymond."

"_You quit that now. You know I don't do that in public."_

"_In private, you will? :K :K :K " _My phone alerted me that he'd included a picture. _"See what you do to me."_

I had a pretty good idea of what kind of pictures he'd be sending, and why I should not be opening them anywhere near my brother. I thought about just scolding him (which he'd love) and then got another idea in my head. _"Who says I'm wearing any lingerie…at all?" _

I tucked the phone back into the side of my chair, deciding to ignore the sudden frantic beeps it was making until Mr. Fangy and Randy had cooled off a bit. (By the repeated texts I was getting, I figured that wouldn't be any time soon.) Just because he was excited about killing the attacker earlier, and plunging head-on into Vegas, didn't mean he ought to be sending me naughty photos and messages.

I sorted back through my stack of magazines and papers, selecting the local Bon Temps paper. It was a sorry little publication, mostly repeats of wire service articles with the occasional community update. One story in particular caught my eye: There was Mayor Craig of Shreveport, apparently under public pressure to comply with a new investigation into the disappearance of public funds. Craig's office was missing accounting for millions of dollars, the source informed the paper, and no one knew where it could be.

I had my guesses. I bit my lip as I studied the photo of Mayor Craig, looking anxious and miserable as he faced off with the press. I peered closer, to see if Craig had any visible bite marks, but the print quality wasn't that good. And why would he be bitten, anyway, I asked myself. Surely Victor just glamoured him for whatever he couldn't get by straight-out threatening the man. And if the man lived, and went up the political ladder, Victor would have an ever-increasing amount of tax-payers to pluck for money. Assuming money was his motive, anyway.

Since Jason was still occupied with the TV, I kept going through the magazines. I checked out the shopping magazine that was stashed in front of us, curious to peruse the funny things they had there. No Hairagini, I noted, although I did see that nice towel that could get your hair all dry so you wouldn't have to blow-dry it.

Next to me, Jason started to snore, open-mouthed, so I took the chance to flip channels. There was some home channel on, featuring one of those shows where insanely rich people have to choose between three mansions to buy. I had never seen one of those shows before I started hanging out with Pam, who lived (well, and died) by them, and I couldn't laugh too much—they did teach me phrases like "master suite," which I, in a house with one and a half baths, had never heard of before.

The homeowners were just griping at the realtor lady about the granite counter tops when I felt a little change in the air, a little pressure in my ears. I glanced at my watch; we were about a half-hour shy of our supposed landing time, so maybe we were there really early and starting our approach to the runway? I tried to remember the last time I'd flown, but while the process was clear as a bell to me, the actual time it took to land a plane was not.

"Please prepare yourself for landing, Ms. Nordman and Mr. Stackhouse," the pilot's voice announced. Jason's favorite stewardess came by, making a show of tightening Jason's belt and tittering over the amount of belt he needed.

"Yeah, I played football, almost got a scholarship for it, in fact," he was saying. ("Almost" being if he had grades that would let him get in any college.) "I had a real arm—see, feel that here," he suggested, moving the hands of Miss Stewardess to his bicep. She giggled again—and then exclaimed sharply as the plane jerked sidewise, casting her into Jason's lap.

Jason, bless his heart, wasn't fazed in the slightest. "Now, you don't worry about a little turbulence—"

The plane lurched again. I yelped as the seatbelt yanked me into my seat. This time the stewardess paled visibly. "I need to see the pilot—I am sure we're just fine," she told us, rising shakily to her feet—and then crying out again as the plane swung to the right, then bobbed briefly towards the nose, as if we were on a giant teeter-totter.

"Jesus Christ!" Jason yelled, as the oxygen masks automatically dropped in front of us.

I had no words to call out—there was no time to pray, and part of me didn't believe this was happening, anyway. In a series of pulses, I was thinking of Eric down below, searing pain at the vision; I was thinking of Jason next to me, of Pam; I was frantically wondering if I could page Niall and somehow save us all; I was staring in disbelief at the stewardess as she fought with the door to the pilot's cabin, her terror projecting to me despite all of my best efforts to block her. In my hand, my phone began to buzz, and I was too frozen to look at it, too frozen to do anything but think of what I would say, if I had the time to say it.

"This is your assistant pilot speaking. We are landing soon, ladies and gentlemen. My apologies for the disruption." A new voice spoke soothingly over the overcom. The stewardess still frowned at the door to the pilot's cabin, but her face didn't have the sheer panic of before.

"Shit, had to be some northern son of a bitch pilot," Jason muttered. He stretched back in his chair. "Sorry you were so worried, sis."

"Yeah, right," I said weakly. We were flying in a much more controlled pattern than before; if I hadn't experienced just then those few minutes of fear, I'd still be watching TV, still completely serene and safe.

I exhaled with difficulty. And vamps _liked _flying?

With a shudder, I made myself look at the phone vibrating, clutched and scored by my nails, in my hand. Eric's texts filled the screen:

"_Sookie? What has happened? You are afraid."_

"_What is it?"_

"_Are you injured? Give me a sign, anything you can type. Call me if you can."_

"_I'm coming, just hold on. No matter what is happening, you WILL be safe. I WILL find you."_

"_If you have my woman, I and my followers will not stop until I have fucking dismembered you alive. I will feed your fucking dick to a shark while you watch. I will give your heart to a bear. I will give your entrails to a boar, and you will feel it all. Touch my woman, and I will make sure you are pierced by every object on earth before you meet your final death." _

Well, then. I let out another shuddering breath, and typed as fast as I could, even with typos. _"I'm ok, can't wait to hold you." _I hit send before I let myself second-guess that. It was the truth, after all. Right now, hurling myself against Eric's chest and sobbing sounded wonderful.

The phone buzzed right away. Jason gave me a curious look but I shook my head at him. _"That was not 'okay,' my beautiful lover. And I will have you the second we disembark." _

I had the sense "have" wasn't in the sense of "hold." I was distracted from that thought, though, as I felt the plane descend again, this time in a controlled manner. _"We'll talk later—some scary flight there. I think turbulence."_

The plane was indeed landing, and to my great relief, we didn't even bump as we touched down. I glanced at my watch—twenty minutes early, even.

"Well, hell, that was weird," Jason said, unbuckling his belt and rising to grab his duffel bag from the overhead space. "Can't say I've ever had a flight like that." He leaned back to catch the eye of the stewardess, who was tidying up her little cart in front of us. "With such really nice people, I meant."

"Right." I wasn't in the mood to play back-up for Jason's latest seduction mission. I waited impatiently for Jason to step back, so I could move from beneath the overhead and straighten up fully. We'd only been in the air for less than two hours, but my muscles were stiff as if I'd been sitting for days.

The stewardess smiled at us, still looking slightly uneasy, and glanced out the window. Something plucked at me, like a wind rippling the strings of a harp, as I watched her face; this girl clearly wasn't feeling right about things. And that just made me feel not right myself.

I swallowed and made myself bring down my shields, focusing in on her. She was thinking of how afraid she was when the plane had gone bucking around (I seconded that); she was thinking Jason was hot but dumb (I agreed on that point, too); she was thinking my little suit dress with the glittery lapels was touristy (I scowled); and she was wondering why we didn't seem to be on any runway she knew of at the Las Vegas airport. I saw quick flashes of her over time; she had clearly been based in Vegas for a long, long time. And yet the runway we were on, from the window, looked like a strip out by some community airport, not the teeming Las Vegas airport, where planes landed and took off at all hours of day or night, and the lights of the Strip glittered not far away.

Her thoughts came to me with the hard pounding of a spring rain: _Where the fuck are we, this isn't right, Captain Thomas has never bounced around like that before, and who the fuck was that on the com before? I thought the back-up today was Captain Alex, and she definitely doesn't sound like a man!"_

I swallowed. If there's anything I've learned from hanging out with Supes, it's that when things seem off, they're _really_ off. In a normal life, say, if you didn't your tax refund in the mail right away, it'd be because the mailman was just having a slow day and had spent the afternoon at Merlotte's. In a life with Supes in it, it meant some freaky Supes had taken your tax refund and were planning on using it to kill you, presumably as quickly as possible.

I grabbed Jason's hand automatically. Jason's not telepathic, or even very good at reading people as a regular person would, but he seemed to pick up on the sense of oddness in the air. He stood still next to me, tension rolling off him and me both. We both looked at the stewardess, who was doing her best to smile, and instead was screwing up her face with a nervous wince.

The door opened smoothly and all three of us jumped. A dark-suited man appeared, smiling. He was entirely average, except for the fact he had a gun.

The stewardess started to scream, throwing her hands to her mouth. Jason exclaimed, "What the fuck, man?" as he dropped his duffel bag, hands in the air. I cried out, clutching my magazines to my chest as if that nasty Jon and his poor wife Kate could somehow save us.

"That's enough, my boy," said the man—the assistant pilot, I guessed, from the sound of his voice. "Now, Captain Thomas has agreed with me that we needed to make a little stop outside of Vegas." He smiled again; I'd seen scary smiles plenty a time, thanks to the vamps, but this was worse, because he meant it. "This is what we're going to do, and we're all going to do it together, or someone's going to get hurt, and we wouldn't want that." The way he said "we" made me think of my funny uncle and all the sick feelings he brought up in me.

"You, my dear, will get the stairs ready for disembarking." He waved at her.

"Shouldn't the captain do th—I mean, yes, yes, sir," said the stewardess shakily. I had no doubt, from the shaky way she approached the exit area, that she didn't think the captain was in any shape to go dropping the hatch. Behind him, she hustled out of the exit stairs; I had no doubt, from the utter confidence of the gunman, that we'd find nobody of assistance on the ground there. Clearly, the gunman wasn't at all worried that she'd find a sympathizer nearby.

"Now, you." The man swung his gun quite pointedly to Jason. "We will exit the plane one at a time, and if you do anything, I will shoot you. Understood?"

Jason lowered his hands slowly, like the suspect in one of those cop movies, always trying to go show as not to startle the cops. If we were geniuses, or trapped in some wonderful movie filled with pithy lines and unlimited confidence, I'd slide my hand over his and Jason would "think" some answer to me, and we, the wonder Stackhouses, would save the day.

But we were not the wonder Stackhouses. I swallowed a painful bubble of fear as Jason edged out into the aisle. He was just a bit too tense and I caught my breath instinctively. "Jason—"

The gunman swung his revolver to me instantaneously. "Don't even think about it!"

Call it protectiveness, call it confidence, call it too many action movies—but that's when Jason moved. He jumped forward, swinging his arm around with all the power he had in it, screaming. I can still replay those moments in my head, Jason's words bizarre and unforgettable: "Yippee-kai-yai-yay, mother fucker!" With a loud, pulpy crack, his fist made impact with the gunman's face.

The gunman swore and staggered back, bouncing off a chair to stay on his feet. I heard the gun cock again, the gunman's arm swinging around to point at Jason, and then—

"No!"

I had no fists to use. I had no knives, guns, or even a hot coffee to throw at the gunman. But I did have a good ten pounds of "Jon and Kate Plus Eight" coverage, and I instinctively threw it all straight in the face of the gunman.

He swung his arms up to defend his face, squeezing off a few shoots that I am sure hit the top of the cabin. But it didn't hit us, I realized triumphantly, as I dove behind my seat. Jason, ahead of me, dove forward, still screaming Bruce Willis lines, and he tackled the gunman.

The gunman wasn't even at full strength, I realized. I grabbed the tray off my chair as the nearest heavy object, ready to smash it on the gunman, but saw the gunman was sobbing, clutching his eyes. He had a—he had a _papercut _on his eye?

Jason obviously could care less about that; he was wailing away on the guy, to the point where I could grab the gun.

"Oh, dear, am I too late? Tsk, tsk, Sookie, you've already got blood on your dress. Again."

Jason and I both jerked upwards. The silvery words, the gloriously beautiful woman in front of us—well, there was no doubt who it was.

"Claudine," I breathed in relief.

"Well, hey, pretty lady," Jason beamed, as if they'd met on the street and not with him straddling a bloody and beaten man.

"Good day to you, dear cousin. I heard you were having troubles today. I had an urgent message to come pay a visit." She dropped off her outrageously expensive designer purse, slid her oversized, Pam-worthy sunglasses on her head, and sashayed forward to kiss me on the cheek. "Shall we tidy this up?"

"I wouldn't have a problem with that," I said quite honestly. And wouldn't you know it, she removed a glittery lipstick container from her purse. She winked at me. "Did you think we went without?" And suddenly the glittery lipstick tube was a glittery wand.

Well, she _was _a fairy godmother, after all, even if her shoes were more Jimmy Choo than Disney.

"Let's fix this, then." She hummed a bit, waved a bit around, and I wish I could say we heard music, or it looked terribly impressive, but it didn't. It didn't look any more impressive than any gorgeous fashionista with pointy ears raiding your plane would.

"All done," she told me cheerfully. Jason was watching her slack-jawed; I had a feeling she'd put some kind of fairy whammy on him. "Why don't you sit there, my handsome cousin?"

"Sure thing, ma'am," said Jason, retreating to a chair.

She bent over the beaten (now unconscious) man. "I'll send him to Niall for a look-over, I think." One touch of her glossy nails and he vanished. She gave me a stern look. "I can't believe you were going to pour your nuts on his face, cousin!"

I quailed just a tad, clutching the airline food with one hand. "Well, a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do."

"Of course." Her iridescent pink lip gloss would've been the envy of any teenager. "Well, now, I do think we need to get you all the way to Vegas, don't we?"

"And how are we going to do that?" I bent over the chair in front of me, rubbing my forehead against my forearms. Who do you call when your plane is on the ground and your pilot is either dead, disabled, or just plain gone? Was there some kind of triple-A for airlines?

Claudine slid her giant glasses down over her face. She beamed at me again. "Why, we fly, of course."

"You can fly?" I snorted automatically.

"Of course!" she answered breezily, sashaying up to the pilot's cabin and throwing it open as if it weighted no more than her hair brush. She glanced back at me with another pure-sunshine smile. "I am a fairy godmother, after all."

_AN: Thank you all for your thoughts! _


	69. Chapter 69

"Of course." Her iridescent pink lip gloss would've been the envy of any teenager. "Well, now, I do think we need to get you all the way to Vegas, don't we?"

"And how are we going to do that?" I bent over the chair in front of me, rubbing my forehead against my forearms. Who do you call when your plane is on the ground and your pilot is either dead, disabled, or just plain gone? Was there some kind of triple-A for airlines?

Claudine slid her giant glasses down over her face. She beamed at me again. "Why, we fly, of course."

"You can fly?" I snorted automatically.

"Of course!" she answered breezily, sashaying up to the pilot's cabin and throwing it open as if it weighted no more than her hair brush. She glanced back at me with another pure-sunshine smile. "I am a fairy godmother, after all."

I remembered the flight in a bit of a daze. Claudine disappeared into the cockpit (what she found there, she didn't say, and I didn't want to know.) The hatch closed, and the overhead speaker came on. A familiar silvery voice informed us in a high official tone, "You are now on Fairy Flights." She giggled, her voice confiding and personal again. "I always did want to say that."

And with that, I just shut down and let Claudine take over. Jason, possibly by some fairy voodoo from our cousin, was sitting quietly in a seat across the aisle; he fell asleep rapidly. That made me think, with a pang, of Eric and Pam, sleeping below. Had they become aware of our unofficial landing and the consequences?

I glanced at my phone.

Oh, yes, Eric was aware.

"_I have an associate coming to help you." _This was well over forty-five minutes ago; I guessed he meant Claudine. I briefly wondered how he'd gotten in touch with her. Did he text message Niall? _"Send help 4 SS. Kthxbye"? _

I shook my head and read on.

"_We are on land. Why?"_

"_I feel fear. Where are you? Are you safe? Is this an error, as before?"_

"_You are relieved. I am not. What has happened? Must I send a video camera around with you, to know what is occurring?" _

Okay, he was a bit put out there. But I didn't blame him—he probably picked up on my spikes of panic and, having no explanation on his side, could only assume the worst.

I tried to distill my experiences. How do you say, "crazy things"? I shrugged and just typed, _"Okay now. Claudine here. V. weird but safe."_

He didn't answer me, so I let my eyes drift shut, where they stayed until we got to Vegas.

True to her word, Claudine apparently _was _a highly accomplished pilot, because we slid down on the runway as if she'd been jetting private planes all of her life. (Maybe she had. It'd be a good job for a fairy, knowing how to fly even without a plane, I guessed.) The airport staff didn't blink an eye at our arrival and our thoroughly unknown pilot; they just hustled to get us all off the plane.

"Well, darlings, let's get you two to your hotel." And I swear, Claudine looped her arms through both of ours, drawing us out of the airport and to the limo she had waiting.

"Damn, woman!" Jason had been a smiling zombie since Claudine got on the plane, but apparently this was pushing his limits. Lunatics brandishing guns and taking over his plane didn't shock him, but getting a limo ride did.

"Well, we _are_ in Vegas," she just said modestly, and waved to us to get in.

I'd like to say our ride went quickly, but even fairies are no use against traffic. I think, anyway—Claudine just beamed sunnily at both of us, so I couldn't tell if she even wanted to hurry things along. I suppose, between opportunities of scoring a halo and opportunities of, well, _not_ scoring a halo, Claudine was just thrilled to be in Vegas, after all. I tried to thank her for her help, but she just brushed me off.

"I am supposed to help you, dear cousin! And you." She dimpled at Jason (slack-jawed as he stared out at the buildings passing us) before turning back to me. "And of course I had a little birdie tell me I was needed." Assuming it _was_ my Viking, I'm not sure Eric would ever be a "little birdie"; for the sake of his pride, I decided never to mention that description to him. "We'll get you settled and I'll stay with you until your other guard arrives."

We were to get "settled," I found out, at that giant Caesar's Casino you see on TV. Driving down the Strip, I was awfully glad we hadn't been booked in the giant Pyramid casino (the Luxor, Claudine told me); that just brought back real bad memories for me. I shuddered and made myself wonder why Eric chose, of all the other options, the Caesar's Casino. Either Eric just wanted to reminisce about the good ol' days, or Pam had a gambling habit, I decided. Jason, of course, was giddy as a toddle before Christmas as he saw the showgirls wandering around. I snorted. Maybe that had something to do with why we were at this casino, too.

"Remind me to shake your man's hand!" he kept telling me.

He followed us slowly (with me tugging on him from time to time) as we checked in. We had two big "V-friendly" suites, Claudine told the clerk at the desk, who nodded firmly. Next to him, a big sign told us that Caesar's was "An Empire that Lived and Died…Befitting All Those Who Live and Have Died." A large ad on his other side informed us that all the restaurants in the building served TrueBlood, BloodLite, Really Red Stripe, and a few other brands I recognized from Fangtasia. Even Royalty, that foul stuff—but cost-wise, I was impressed.

Claudine gave us a few minutes in our rooms to get settled in before, she said, we'd be getting to know our home base. Since I was alone in the suite, I thought I should check in on Eric. I'd feel awfully bad, after all, if they'd put the wrong vampire in this suite, I told myself. It was only good common sense to peek in the coffin and make sure this Pandora had the right box.

So I cranked open his coffin. It actually didn't have the creepy, puffy look of a real coffin inside, something that relieved me greatly. It's one thing to know your boyfriend is breathing-impaired, another thing entirely to class your love life with the sickos who lurk around morgues.

His coffin ("travelling box," I told myself firmly) just looked like a bed, a real bed, not the fake, glammed up look of a coffin. There were stashes along the sides for items—I saw his iPod, a book, and –I leaned in—his passport. I was greatly tempted to peek—oh, hell, I did. I pulled it out and had a good look at his passport picture, which featured him smirking at the passport cameraman as if he was not only imagining them naked, but in the midst of bad, bad things.

"Oh, you," I muttered, and tucked the passport back away.

If he heard me, he sure didn't react; he was on his back, one of his hands near his head with his phone in it—the easier to see it during the precious few times when he could move a little, I gathered. His face was relaxed, although his mouth wasn't as smiley as I'd have liked.

"Hope you're not worrying about me," I found myself saying, as my hand smoothed the hair back from his face. I glanced over the rest of him; he was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, ready to step right out. Well, not so ready, I noticed—_someone_ had left his jeans open. He wasn't showing anything (I suppose that was his concession to class), but he had apparently left his pants unbuckled since, well, what I assume was the photo he'd sent me. A photo I would make absolutely certain to delete, I reminded myself, remembering Jason's reaction to that picture on Eric's phone.

"I'm not sure he'd like looking at you more than he liked looking at me. What do you think, honey?"

He didn't react—not that I expected him to—and I continued to stand there, stroking his hair thoughtfully. "Sweetie, do you want to keep your jeans undone or should I help you there?" I giggled. "And you're not even awake to take advantage of that comment. Shame, isn't it?"

After a good minute of just contemplating the question—was it more uncomfortable to sleep zipped up?--I finally grabbed a decorative blanket off the end of the bed and draped it over his lower body. At least that way he'd be covered up if a maid came in. I doubted he cared (well, hell, I was pretty sure I knew he didn't), but I definitely didn't like the idea of somebody possibly taking a peep at Sleeping Beauty.

"Some Prince Charming you are," I told him, and planted a kiss on his soft, still lips, just for the fun of it.

"I am very tempted to wake him for you."

The voice, musical and feminine, was non-threatening, but so unexpected I still shrieked. "Claudine!"

"Oh, did I scare you?" She breezed into the room, standing by my side to study Eric. I twitched the blanket up carefully.

"Now, now, cousin, you know I'm not interested in taking what's yours." She patted me on the arm and winked. "Just seeing what all of your trouble is about."

"Eric's not—I—what do you mean?"

"If you'd just tell him how you feel, maybe you wouldn't feel so troubled." She continued to smile at me, the smile of a dreamer.

Because it was Claudine, and because I was feeling a little low (how could you not, seeing someone you cared for sprawled out, well, dead, before you), I just shrugged tiredly. "Nothing to say." I let my hand slip from the blanket to his head, twining our fingers together. His hand opened unresistingly to me.

"Mmmm, you do keep saying that, cousin." She ruffled my hair. "That's why I love you—you're so full of crap sometimes. Now, shall we go?"

I barely had time to see the rest of my suite before Claudine was herding us downstairs for a tour of the casino. She was, I gathered, going to shadow us every step of the way—not that I could blame her, frankly. And not that I wanted her gone! It was nice to know I could concentrate on things like sight-seeing for once. (I'd even packed a couple disposable cameras in my purse, so I could take pictures to show later. I figured, for all of the things I saw with vamps regularly, I might as well get some pictures for a trip scrapbook sometime! Maybe Pam could even help me with one, I decided.) And it was even better to know she could collar Jason whenever he started to stray away, so I didn't even have to spend my time focusing on him.

"You don't get a chance to vacation every day," she informed me, after beckoning my brother back to us with a crook of her finger. "Don't you worry your head about him."

Or anything else. We had some kind of fancy cards that billed our dinners back to our room. I wanted to go easy on that—after all, looking over some of the menu at the restaurant we chose, I thought I could probably just buy some food at a grocery store and make it in our room for one-quarter of the price. But Claudine insisted.

"Either it goes to the room or on this," she scolded. And she waved the credit card section of her wallet at me. (I caught sight of one card with kittens on it; she apparently personalized her credit card.)

So that's how we ended up spending the day at the casino, surveying our surroundings. Jason wanted to go out and explore the city when darkness was approaching, as he'd heard "there's some show with a ship and naked chicks on it!" Claudine fortunately put her dainty heel down and got both of us Stackhouses to the suites before the night arrived.

"You don't want to miss your host, do you," she said with a merry laugh.

That's how Jason and I ended up in my room, waiting for the vamps, as Claudine went off to powder her nose. Barely a minute after Claudine left, Pam waltzed in first, a, pinched, irritable look on her face. Her hand flicked up before I could speak.

"I have not had my evening O negative, you do not want to talk to me." She paused and regarded me sulkily.

It took me a second and then I realized the issue. Vamps don't do manual labor. At the bar, Pam would've just had the bartender get her a drink (if she didn't have a fangbanger on hand). Here, she'd have to raid the minibar _and_ microwave the drink in front of us, the humans.

And that wouldn't do.

"Let me get that for you, Pam," I said dryly, and popped two Bloods in the microwave. Eric would be up and about soon, I figured, so I could just get his ready.

"How thoughtful," Pam drawled, sitting down. Jason, of course, found the need to sit right by her, smiling hugely, as if this were all the opening he needed. I am pretty sure I saw a similar scene play out on one of those wildlife shows where a snake manages to eat a lion whole.

Jason's no snake, let's just say that.

"We could go down to the casino later and you could be my lady luck. I'd let you blow my dice, you know," he was telling her.

"I am sure you would." I was very, very thankful I could not read Pam's mind at that moment.

If Jason meant to tell her more, he lost his chance. His efforts at romance were foiled by Claudine, who bounced into the room like an overcharged Energizer Bunny. "Oh, my, one of your friends is up!"

Up, indeed. I'd forgotten just how friendly the vamps got around fairies. Pam's eyes had dilated; she was licking her lips and rising.

"Well, hell, I didn't know you went that way! I mean, no worries, ladies, there's more than enough Jason Stackhouse if you want to share—"

"_Jason!_" I should've been yelling at Pam, but my response was automatic. I pushed Claudine behind me. "Pam, snap out of it. You don't want her, anyway. Fairy blood stains, you know that."

"But it's so delicious," she murmured, still crazy-eyed.

"Damn, woman—" Jason was now at Pam's side, tugging her by the arm. I guess it had begun to dawn on him that no matter his strength and her petiteness, her vampire powers made her a heck of a lot stronger than he'd ever be. "Sookie?"

"Just stop her—Pam, you quit that!"

"Out of my way—"

"I am so sorry, I am—ill! With a disease you can catch!" Claudine exclaimed behind my shoulder. Since Pam wasn't susceptible to any diseases but a couple tiny vamp ones, that didn't make her pause. (I doubted _anything_ would have. Fairy blood is like Cinnabon frosting for vamps. Just that good.)

Just as that moment, the door to Eric's chamber flew open. I heard Claudine cry out, startled, but the white blur charged right past her, knocking Pam away from us. The intention wasn't to stop Pam, I realized. Instead, I was suddenly hoisted off my feet, caught up by _very _strong arms, and kissed as if this were the last night on earth. It was a testament to Eric's long-practiced smooching skills that, even as surprised as I was, my temperature had shot to boiling in a few choice seconds of tongues playing.

"Dude, that's my _sister!" _Jason exclaimed behind us. From within the chest pushed up against mine, a growl emerged; Eric lifted his lips from my swollen ones, and fixed his eyes on Claudine.

"Where is he?" he asked, in tones that made me shiver.

She'd backed up to nearly the wall. You couldn't blame her, given the incident with Pam, who was still frothing at the mouth with Jason by her arm. "He's with Niall. We have him in prison."

Eric's eyebrow flexed upwards. "Not dead?"

"Of course not!" I don't know why Claudine sounded so indignant; I'd heard a thing or two about the fairies.

Eric's lips curved upwards a hair. "Wonderful. You have my gratitude. Now you may go." He turned his back to Claudine, and just that fast, she'd scampered out of the suite.

"Eric! That was rude!"

"Tell me about it. He just sent away a delicious treat," Pam lamented. But her eyes were starting to become clear again, so I knew she was breaking away from the spell of Claudine's presence.

He let me slide out of his arms. "It was that or an episode neither she nor you would appreciate." Did that count for tact on his part? Actually worrying about drooling on another woman in front of me? (Did it count as drooling if his interest was in, well, eating the other woman, I wondered.) He slid his phone out of his pocket, stepped away, and placed a call. From the low murmurs, I could tell he was talking to someone associated with Niall—probably about the attacker, I decided.

I turned to watch out the window as they talked. I wasn't bored; it was an opportunity. The lights of the Strip were glittering like all the Christmas lights in the world were turned on out there—and the cars! Even from where I was, I could see all the traffic. Even the biggest cities I'd been, from my adventures in Dallas to the destruction of the Pyramid of Gizeh at Lake Michigan, had nothing on this hive of energy.

Next to me, Jason whistled. "Sure is a big town out there. Think we'll get to see some of it?"

"I'm sure you will." Pam glided between us. "My master will be away soon, I am sure."

I spun sharply to her. "Away?"

"He will want to kill the man who attacked your plane, of course." She flicked a loose lock of hair over her shoulder. "I am surprised he has waited so long, frankly."

Across the room, Eric was still on his phone. I could tell he was doing "business" because he was smiling to himself and waving his free hand in the air as if the other side could see his gestures.

"Ridiculous." Pam's mouth was near my ear, so I alone heard her. "You are just being ridiculous. You are all but drawing hearts over his head, Stackhouse."

"Hush," I mumbled, but not too defiantly. This is, after all, Pam we're talking about.

"Pam." Eric's voice made us both turn to look back at him. Heck, even Jason (now occupied in reading the channel list for the TV) turned to hear him. Eric tucked his phone into his jacket pocket. When had he put his jacket on? "We will need to go for a little trip." _Uh-oh, fangs are out_.

"Visiting the latest friend of your Sookie, I gather?"

Eric's fangs emerged further. "First, we pay our respects to the Area, then off to our visit." Before I could blink, he had zoomed in front of me, his hands cupping my face. "Try not to find trouble while I am away, my little one."

"I'll see what I can do about that, big boy." He fanged happily at me. Really, I should've been disturbed by his tangible glee at having our attacker at his mercy. But I remembered Eric's own words, when we once talked of God—that the Lord couldn't possibly mean for us to sit around like ducks waiting to be picked off. All Eric was going to do was find out why the guy came.

_Yes, and give the man bon-bons and a manicure_. Even my own subconscious wasn't buying that one.

I managed to flash Eric an uneven smile—good enough, considering he was off to a bloodbath and all I wanted to do was lock my arms around him and nuzzle into him. He must've sensed my unease, as he leaned further down, his eyes bright and unblinking. "You and your brother may enjoy the gambling and the shops. I will join you shortly."

"You better," I grumbled, and he laughed, stepping back.

"Your guard will be here momentarily. Pam?"

And just like that, both vamps had ditched us, leaving Jason and I standing in the middle of the suite, staring at each other.

"So what the hell is going on?" Jason finally asked. I rubbed my forehead—I didn't want to give him the details, and I trusted either the vamps or Claudine would ensure he wasn't going to remember most of this, anyway. Not that I wanted them mucking about in poor Jason's head, I thought, watching him struggle with the latch on the minibar.

A knock at the door rescued me. Before Jason could object, I was scooting across the room to answer it. And before you ask, no, I didn't just jerk it open—I actually did look through the peephole first.

And screamed happily.

The door ripped open under my hands. A very familiar man stood there, trademark sunglasses in place, hair styled usually; this man, usually the one the vamps took great care to hide, stood there not at all hidden, because in this place, why should he be? Eric's one concession to this man's…unique…habits was in his clothing: A bright green shirt advised the world, in giant letters, to "CALL ME BUBBA."

"Why, howdy, Miss Sookie," he exclaimed, swinging me into an enthusiastic hug. "Mr. Eric has promised me a whole set of kittens if I let him kiss on you. That okay with you?"

Jason, stunned, had wandered up behind me. "Is that--?"

My hugger, now humming a tender tune, stuck out a hand in Jason's direction.

"You can call him Bubba," I said firmly, and I hope, significantly.

"Bubba," Jason said doubtfully.

"That's me," he said, without any doubt. He smiled, hugely and warmly, at Jason. "You don't by any chance got any cats, do you?"

_AN: I never get to thank all of you as much as I want to—so thank you, thank you, thank you, for all of your thought_s!


	70. Chapter 70

Jason, stunned, had wandered up behind me. "Is that--?"

My hugger, now humming a tender tune, stuck out a hand in Jason's direction.

"You can call him Bubba," I said firmly, and I hope, significantly.

"Bubba," Jason said doubtfully.

"That's me," he said, without any doubt. He smiled, hugely and warmly, at Jason. "You don't by any chance got any cats, do you?"

Bubba herded us back down to the casino, and this time, it was surprisingly easy to go. You didn't really have extended conversations with Bubba (he veered off subject easily, like when he saw an ad featuring Siegfried and Roy and started drooling in the elevator), but he's such a happy presence, you can't help but feel good around him. Even Jason stopped gawking and started grinning, especially when the staff would give knowing smiles to Bubba and then tell us that various services were "on the house."

"People sure are friendly here," Bubba observed to me as we walked through the blackjack tables. Jason wanted us to stop and play, but I didn't dare. Although the dealers were all vamps (the better to avoid any problem with vamps wanting to play, too), most of the players were humans, and I just knew I'd hear something I shouldn't in the middle of a game, even if I really tried not to hear it.

And that was just about cards and money. Now you can imagine why _Spin the Bottle_ was so awful for me.

Jason of course disagreed with me on this ("The Lord gave you that—that _thing_—for a reason!"), but I wasn't going to make a cash killing for either of us. Gran wouldn't have approved.

"Gran ain't here, Sook, and look, a man's got to make his way, remember? Seems you're being real selfish," he told me. To be fair, he told me this over the edge of yet anotherbeer, and his face had a tell-tale flush to it, but I can't say his words didn't sting.

"Jason, I'm going to ask you to be quiet before either of us ruins this," I finally said. Bubba had wandered up to my side and was giving Jason a (for Bubba) hostile expression. I even saw, beyond the wet edges of my lashes, a few security guards tensing up—no doubt thinking Bubba was one of theirs.

"Sure, whatever," Jason said, and stomped off.

"He'll be all right, he just needs to sober up a bit," I explained, patting Bubba on the arm.

Bubba nodded agreeably. "You want me to go thump him for you?"

"Er, no." I had my doubts about how lightly Bubba "thumped" anybody. "Let's just keep walking, okay?"

I was glad for the opportunity to see the casino at night, especially now that I was wearing a little v-necked number that Pam had slipped into my bag. I was probably overdressed for a main casino floor, where most of the tourists could barely be bothered to change out of shorts and panama hats, but I figured it wasn't likely I was going to have this moment again. Strolling around with Bubba, I felt a little like Marilyn Monroe must've felt, when she hung around Frank Sinatra and those shady mob types. And there were, well, creatures of shade around here—I saw a bored Roman Centurion who definitely looked authentic, and I saw a reclining Cleopatra carried past us—Cleopatra glowing in a rather tell-tale fashion, although I didn't think any of the humans around us acknowledged that. Confirming my hunch, Bubba even nodded his head at her, and she gave him a gentle wave of her hand.

"Is she your friend?" Did Bubba have girlfriends?

"Sure is, Miss Sookie. She's an old friend—real old. Older 'n Mr. Eric, but she don't like to be told that often. She's a lady, you know."

"Oh, I know." Gran had fudged her driver's license for years. I wondered what lady vamps did about that. "What's her name?"

Bubba gave me a shocked look. "Miss Cleo, of course! She's pretty well known around these parts."

Bubba looked so upset about my ignorance that I hastily changed the subject and filed it under Things to Ask Eric. But in the meantime, to calm Bubba down, I did a bit of touristy photography. I intended to take a photo of one of the fountains, which reminded me of another photo. A quick glance at my phone proved the picture Eric had sent was still there. And—I opened it—

"Holy smokes!"

Eric clearly was not entirely incapacitated during the day.

I hastily (but regretfully) deleted the picture and fired off a response text. Sure, he'd only see it later, when we were probably together again, but I couldn't let this sit. _"You are bad!"_

Bubba, fortunately, was waiting patiently for me to keep adventuring with him. I smiled at him to indicate I was ready to resume our walk, when my phone went off in my hand. In a second, it was at my ear.

"I am told to inform you that we are taking care of your little friend on the airplane last night," drawled a cool voice. "My master wishes to keep in touch with you during dangerous times."

Although she sneered the last words, I felt the dig. I opted not to challenge her on the point—you can't text-message very much with a gun pointed at you! "They let you two go there?" I had no idea how to describe where the fairy lived. It just sounded too stupid, although Niall always made mentions of "beyond the veil" and what-have-you sound absolutely normal and proper.

"No, they brought him to us." Pam sounded downright perky. "Now I know the delight of you humans when you order your food in." She called, seemingly off the phone, "Save some for me!"

"Um, well, that's nice." I used all of my mental powers to make myself believe she was just talking about a pizza.

I clearly did not have much in the way of mental powers.

She sighed, either bored or annoyed. "So I am to tell you that your attacker is well and dead. Shall I send along a photograph?"

That Pam. Always thinking of your emotional needs.

"Um, thanks but no thanks."

She sighed again "And here I thought you would make a good vampire." I heard, somewhere near her, Eric's voice and my breath caught automatically. "My master has interrogated the attacker thoroughly." I closed my eyes, refusing to let these images play out in my head. I didn't think my pastor would be too keen on me rejoicing in that moment, no matter what Eric said. "We are now going to meet with members of Felipe's court." She paused. "Am I to send a message to my master?"

"What do you mean?"

"Perhaps something very admiring," she hinted. "He will be a happy vampire." Again she paused. "If you are still being an idiot and refusing to tell him your love, you could comment on his ass again. He enjoys that."

"I'm not talking about that with you!" I hissed into the phone. Sure, any vamps in the room probably heard both sides of our conversation, but I wasn't going to yell the words for the benefit of the humans present, too. "Just tell him to take care, okay? And you too."

"Oh, of course. Me, too," Pam repeated, and I had the distinct impression she was amused with me. "Very well."

I wasn't too surprised when the phone in my hand went dead—Pam, after all, could be rated as "Terrible" in the Socialization Department, and if it were Eric, anyway, he'd just say "good-bye" in tones that would make an X-rated worker blush. So I wasn't too put about that.

I was, however, reminded of why we were here. I bit my lip and asked for a gin and tonic as I thought; then I was reaching for my phone. The little bar into which we'd wandered was quiet enough that I could place a call. Next to me, Bubba sat, flipping through a _People_ (although I doubted whether he could actually read the stories, he did seem to appreciate that little Disney girl singer a bit too much.)

"Sookie!" Once upon a time, Alcide's unquestionably masculine voice would've warmed me to my toes. I remembered with a pang what hopes I'd not-so-secretly had for him, for that wonderful guy who treated me nice to be the one. How wrong had I been? I smiled to myself, remembering Eric's reaction when I got a shawl from Alcide.

"Hi, Alcide, I hope I'm not calling at your dinner hour or anything." I didn't know the time difference off-hand. I glanced over at Bubba, but he was too absorbed in _People_ to nod to confirm my suspicions or not.

"You know I'm happy to hear from you," Alcide said, but it was with a twinge of coolness. Oh, yes, I kicked myself. I knew that highly professional tone. It was the _you are definitely off-limits, so let's keep our talk that way_ tone. The _If I can't flirt with you, then we have to act like you're a nun_, _quite possibly an 80 year old dying nun_ tone.

Sam had given me that tone more or once, before I'd called him on it. "Sam Merlotte, you are not treating me like a perfect stranger!" I had snarled one day. He'd reared back in surprise and a dash of fear—I'm not sure because of my outburst, or because he knew I was PMSing, or what.

What can I say? Some days, a girl's just got to let it out.

Today wasn't one of those days, so I just spoke succinctly. "Right, well, I have to say I wasn't too happy that a were tried to jump Eric and me in the parking lot of Fangtasia the other night."

"I heard about that." Now he'd dropped the stiffness and just sounded sorry. Good. I'm not one to wallow in pity, but a girl at least wants it to be acknowledged when people have tried to kill her! "North—Eric actually had me look into it. He was not from this area, you know." There went my Friend of the Pack theory. "He was paid, a mercenary."

"I figured as much." Only two reasons people try to kill innocent strangers: either they're crazed hate mongers or they're paid.

Not so innocent strangers, though—well, that's another story for another day. I opted not to think of Lorena or Debbie Pelt at that moment.

"He came from Dallas," Alcide informed me. I must've groaned. "Yeah, funny thing, isn't it?" _Not so funny, _I wanted to snap, but I kept my temper. Dallas had not been my best trip, to put it mildly.

Although, I told myself sourly, at least I didn't get staked on that one. A shiver ran through me as I thought of the aftermath of the staking—of Eric, eyes intense and arms solid, carrying me, smoothing down my dress so my garters wouldn't show; and of course of Eric, and his awful snuggling with me, and his even more awful blue boxer shorts, which were a permanent fixture in some of my fantasies for a few weeks afterwards.

I still believe he wore those damn boxers just so I could get a look at the goods—which are very good indeed.

"Sookie?" Alcide's voice jolted me back to the present. I fanned myself with a menu in my free hand. Had it gotten warm in here or was it just my gin-and-tonic?

"Yes, I'm here. I was just thinking…" Well, no need to fill in the rest of that sentence. Hurriedly, I continued, "Do you have any knowledge of who hired him yet?"

"I know it was a vampire, named…Allan something. Allan Shreve. Your—Eric Northman was going to look into it." My—Eric Northman. Didn't that say it all? I winced, unsure of how to correct Alcide on that point.

"Okay, thanks. Things have been a little busy—I haven't been able to talk to him too much."

"Is there a problem?" I'm not vain enough to think Alcide was sitting around waiting for me, but he had just a touch of aggression in his voice when he asked that. I guess once he flirted with you, you were one of his friends for life. It was a good quality, but one that had kept him in denial about Debbie for far too long.

For me, I preferred a guy who dealt in reality.

"No, no problem. Thanks again for everything." I clicked the phone shut and absently looked around the little table where we sat, the people there. I didn't want to sit there and cool my heels while Eric did—well, whatever he was doing. (_Pizza, Stackhouse, pizza!_) I chewed my lip and turned to Bubba.

"Do they have any kind of Internet places around here, Bubba?"

Bubba had no clue about the Internet (I wasn't too shocked about this), but he did agree to ask some of his friends. We were waved by Cleopatra to another little café, this one outfitted with computers. I stationed Bubba at one and moved over to a private computer in a corner.

My fingers pecked the keyboard carefully. I didn't work with computers regularly, unlike Amelia or the vamps, and so my typing wasn't as good as any of theirs. Slow or not, I got the web address in from memory:

_.com_

Trust Bill to go for the obvious name. I sighed. Bill had started selling Internet access to his database; he claimed it was hacker-proof, but frankly, I had my doubts about that. More likely, the real hackers were humans who just didn't give a damn about sorting out the biographies of various vampires.

I went to the log-in. I was tempted to try to log in as Bill (what would his password be? "Lorena"? I glared), but instead I reached for the phone again.

"Sookie! Is anything wrong?" Bill's voice was downright panicked.

"I'm fine." I was in no mood for a "darling-Sookie-come-back-to-me" conversation. "I need to get into your database, Bill. Can you give me a password or whatever?"

Bill sputtered indignantly, but eventually he capitulated. (Okay, this capitulation came right after I hinted his precious database owed me a lot more than some basic information, but I still got what I wanted.)

The log-in he gave me was pretty straightforward, like Bill himself: SOOKIE. The password was also very much like Bill: BEAUTIFUL.

I growled at the computer screen. At least it hadn't been TAKEMEBACK. I'd have thrown the computer clear across the country at him, sweet or not.

I shook my head, peeked over at Bubba (staring raptly at his screen—I didn't want to know what he was looking at), and started in on my search. It took a few spelling variations before I figured out the right one, and there he was. Bless Bill's obsessive-compulsive heart, there was all of the info I wanted.

"Allan Shreve, Dallas, turned roughly 1920, child of—"—I caught my breath. _Victor_ _Madden_.

I released the air in my mouth slowly. "Well, isn't that interesting," I muttered. A person a few tables over glanced at me, but I ignored him. Hearing people's thoughts all of the time, I hardly cared if they overheard me mutter a little. To most of Bon Temps, I was just Crazy Sookie, anyway. _But not to Shreveport_, a little voice whispered in my mind.

I typed in Victor's name. Bill had apparently given me a basic log-in; if you paid for more advanced features, you got to see the details of more important vampires. (VIVs, he told me). So although I could see Victor's name and picture, more about him eluded me.

Stymied (a Word of the Day), I tried to search the site a bit more, just to see if I could think of another way to get more information on what had been happening to us. Because I was essentially just killing time while my brain worked on the problem, I typed in Bill's name.

Yup, there was a small entry on Bill. I was surprised by its modesty, but then again, Bill was a private person. He didn't even include full details of his family, I noticed, although he'd given family history for other vampires.

That tempted me to look up my other vampire—and Eric was naturally off-limits. (Whether because he was a VIV or Bill just didn't want me to see Eric's details, I don't know.) Annoyed, I tried to use a search engine to see if I could sneak into Eric's page, anyway, but I just found a ton of fangbangers writing in their blogs and on websites about how good he'd been. I snorted.

"Hussies," I growled at the screen. No matter if someone had animated Eric's Fangtasia calendar to "talk"—no matter if that actually was pretty funny, and he'd no doubt find it hilarious—something about all of these women pawing at me set me funny. I took a moment to wonder why I wanted to suddenly sign up all of these tramps for lots of spam.

But was that going to solve anything? I ground my teeth and turned back to the issue at hand. _Victor needed money and was trying to milk Eric's area—maybe even take over Eric's area—to get that money_. But why Area 5? It wasn't the richest area, by far. Even if Victor couldn't pull the same scam in Las Vegas, surely there was some big city out there ripe for the plucking.

Or maybe it wasn't limited to Area 5? I went back to Bill's database and peeked around the forums. The vamps weren't very good with online gossip, I found out; they posted little more than yes/no answers to questions and offered extremely limited information about what was going on in their own worlds. If I was hoping to see people complain of the same situations we faced at Fangtasia, I was wrong. I bit my lip.

"You are Northman's woman," a voice interrupted me.

I looked up. "Oh!" _Oh, shit_ was more like it. Ever since Debbie Pelt, I'd been able to recognize people who had killed. It was just a way a person walked, a little sadness in how they moved. This woman had killed as often as I'd returned books to the library.

The hotel Cleopatra barely smiled at me as she took a seat at the next table. I didn't get the sense she was ever Miss Warm and Fuzzy, so I hardly minded.

"Yes, I am," I stammered, watching as the bar staff scurried to serve her a drink. From the darkness of the liquid, I could tell at once what brand she was drinking—Royalty.

"I have known him a long time," she continued off-handedly. She wasn't paying any more attention to me than you might pay to a cat at your ankles. (My heart spasmed a bit, thinking of poor Tina.) But, I reminded myself, at least she wasn't killing me. Even though Bubba just beamed at us from his table, I didn't trust this vamp at all.

"Do not think that." She was finally looking at me. This Cleo was striking, but not beautiful; she had what Gran would call a "Roman nose," and hard lines to her face. Her eyes were unblinking, like a Sphinx. "I would not bed him. I prefer less hair." She laughed, more to herself than to me.

"Yes, um, ma'am," I said obediently.

"We may be related…the Roman connection." She exhaled elegantly. "Those Roman men."

Given what Eric had indicated to me about his maker and his past, I wasn't too sure I wanted to think too hard about those Roman men. Or the fact Cleopatra here didn't seem downright disgusted, as I was, to think of how Eric was forced into becoming a vamp. And if this woman was somehow Eric's maker-version of Gran, and she didn't know, or care? Anger flared abruptly within me. "May? You don't know?" I snapped, before I could reign myself in.

"Drink only what you can hold, female." Her eyes were humorless and flat. "You may overstep your bounds." I opened my mouth to try to apologize for my rudeness, but she raised a listless hand. "I am used to the foolishness of you mortals. Especially here." She smiled again, full-lipped and not showing the fangs that no doubt lurked beneath. "I founded this place so I could live again as I once did—they always said we must change, and I said why?" I made a noise of agreement, partially out of good manners and partially because I wasn't quite sure when her tolerance of "foolish mortals" would wear off.

"What is it you seek?" she finally asked.

A lot of things, but I decided to go for the most basic. As a hotel fixture (literally), she might have seen or heard things. I gave her a quick summary of the events at Fangtasia, making sure not to mention Victor by name, or even become aware we had leads.

"I have heard of such problems. Stan Davis has them in a few of his areas." I knew Stan, king of Texas, from my first trip to Dallas. "Others as well." She rose abruptly. "I must return now. My guard is here to escort me from my break." Two centurions, both human, waved nervously at her; I watched in fascination as she gave them her full smile and headed to them, hands out as if to be either led or kissed.

"Miss Sookie, you ready now?" Bubba, I guess, was impatient as well. I let myself follow him out to the main floor of the casino again—Jason was there, I noticed, although he was sulking at one of the blackjack tables. Bubba himself wandered off to chat up some friends (or perfect strangers—you never knew), as I went to entertain myself.

I felt a cool hand on my shoulder, heard a knowing masculine voice that made my toes curl. Something inside of me that had been anxious and twisting was now calm, soothed, purring like a cat in the right lap. "What a prize to find."

"Where have you been?" I asked, not bothering to look up as I tugged on the slot machine arm.

His big white hand slid around mine and the arm slid forward with all of the resistance of a key in its lock. "Tending to business. We should have a few days' peace, you will be happy to hear."

"Oh, yes." I didn't have to talk up, thank goodness, since despite the volume of the music and the patrons' chatter, Eric's hearing was fantastic. "We need to catch up--I have a few things I found out."

"We will. But now let us indulge in our own little gambling…" A finger ghosted along the strap of my dress, making me quiver. His mouth purred into my ear, "Shall we retire to the room? Perhaps a game of strip poker?" His fingers lifted the strap of my dress easily.

I leaned back automatically into those hands, mind whirring. Oh, I knew too well what Eric was about—give him any kind of victory, and he's always ready to celebrate, so to speak. Already, behind me, he shifted a bit impatiently—not normally an Eric trait, but one when he was flush with energy. Or trouble, I thought, catching a glimpse of his reflection in my slot machine's façade. I couldn't help smiling at that reflection.

"I'm not really done yet, honey," I said, partly to tease him. And partly too, because this complimentary champagne I was sipping was pretty darned good. A wild, sudden spurt of relief pulsed through me, as all of the tension I'd been carrying around this evening went away. He was here, he was fine, and we were all in this amazing place, together. I spun off the chair, dropping my champagne flute onto a nearby table, and latched onto his shirt with my hands. "Come dance with me?"

We ended up in a nearby club. (Thank goodness for the sprawling all-in-one quality of casinos, I figured.) Dancing is one of my favorite activities ever, and definitely now that I had all of this energy pumping through me. Eric was sedate and sulking a bit, taking whatever chance he could to squeeze various parts of me as a reminder of what kinds of dancing could be done _off_ the floor. I refused to let him get to me, and deliberately set about making him get into the dancing, too. I don't know if he started having fun (he did start to bop along to Jason's old favorite AC/DC song, "All Night Along") or just capitulated to the fact nobody can shimmy like I can, but by the time some old-school Salt-n-Peppa was playing, he was bouncing around next to me like nobody's business. Doing any kind of dancing with Eric requires some skill, as he can be a little enthusiastic, and with his long limbs, damage can be done. Plus, the difference in our heights made any of the "sexy" moves ridiculously off if we weren't working together at those points. But Eric was laughing, and something inside of me starting bubbling up, a wild, positive pressure that made the thought of anything more substantial than how we fit together silly. He was lifting me up to help me get my thigh around his properly, fearlessly throwing his arms out to dance just as full-out as I was, and he even laughed, not leered, when I started unbuttoning his shirt during "Hot in Here," making me dizzy from the force of his smile alone. He even tried to get me to dirty-dance with him, to some song about sex being "on fire" (not as on-fire as Eric was, I thought), smirking through the light scruff of his cheek and holding the back of my head so I could see only his bright, bold eyes as he licked his lips—and occasionally darted forward to lick mine. Mainly though, we were mostly giggling over how ridiculous we were, me stumbling just a bit from tipsiness, him just a bit too big for the dance floor and for me. For dancing with me, that is. As he bounced around the dance floor, lifting me and slinking with me, making my face ache from the smile he'd put on it, he didn't feel too big at all, I knew. Not that way. Not at all.

Had I been worried before, while he was gone? Had I been anxious? I couldn't remember it. Instead, I bubbled over with laughter as he lifted me up and then slid me down in a smooth move, almost as if he were dipping me, or preparing to kiss me. Either way was fine with me, as I beamed up at his face, all sunshine in his moonglow skin.

I laughed and threw my arms around the back of his neck, watching his eyes widen as he laughed with me. They were dancing as he laughed with me, his smile softening his face so I could see the beautiful boy he had once been, as well as the gorgeous man he was now. The bubbling sensation in me opened my mouth as if without my will. "Oh, Eric," I exclaimed, and the words suddenly, fatefully, tumbled out inevitably one after another, like happy puppies falling onto each other, like champagne spilling over its bottle edge, like teardrops down a cheek. "I love you."

_AN: Thanks as always for your thoughts! And yes, I'm working on the next bit immediately. : K , as Eric would say! _


	71. Chapter 71

_FYI: In the last chapter, the website cut out the name of Bill's database site. Its address was to be The Vampire Database. Sorry about that!_

_As for this chapter—nope, not sorry at all. ;)_

I laughed and threw my arms around the back of his neck, watching his eyes widen as he laughed with me. They were dancing as he laughed with me, his smile softening his face so I could see the beautiful boy he had once been, as well as the gorgeous man he was now. The bubbling sensation in me opened my mouth as if without my will. "Oh, Eric," I exclaimed, and the words tumbled out inevitably one after another, like happy puppies falling onto each other, like champagne spilling over its bottle edge, like teardrops down a cheek. "I love you."

The world was suddenly silent as the seconds before a bomb's landing. I started to move—to struggle, to run, to cover my mouth and/or yell out, "Oh, hell!"

But I just didn't have time.

With a noise that was either happy whoop or ancient battle cry, Eric had yanked me up from my position draped in his arms. He spun us around—in the periphery of my vision, I saw a familiar blonde crouching in a defensive position behind us, as if to keep the world at bay; _was Pam actually brandishing a knife at people? _–and then I was thrown against Eric's chest with such force that I didn't have a chance to think about anything but him again. I almost didn't notice the mouth smashing exuberantly down on me, apparently dead-set on kissing not just me, but my internal organs, too. I naturally had no recourse but to draw my legs up around his waist, his hands at my butt both holding me up and keeping my skirt in place. Not that there was much modesty down there, from the way I was gripping him.

Entirely thrown off my guard, I didn't even have the power of mind to block out the thoughts in the room.

_Oh my God. _

_Are they going to have sex on the dance floor? Is it wrong if I want to watch?_

_She's crying—is it a proposal? I don't see a ring._

_Fucking lucky man, that chick's about to fall out of her dress._

_What's with the crazy bitch there in front of them? Is she a bodyguard? She just fucking snarled at those people walking near them!_

_Jesus, get a room._

_Get a fucking camera! This is great material for the website…_

_Got to be newlyweds. _

_God DAMN, that man is hot. Get it, girl._

_That's the best Elvis impersonator I've ever seen! I can't wait to call the girls._

_Hot babe on that big guy—oh, SHIT, SHIT, I looked at Sook AGAIN! Oh, fuck! _

All of the thoughts swirled around me, beat down on me, and yet, I didn't care. I was too busy receiving and reciprocating Eric's thunderstorm of kisses, my nails digging into him as we were in motion—too fast for me to see, just a wind I felt as we suddenly slammed next to a wall, Eric lifting a hand from me to wave wildly at the wall.

"Button," I heard him exclaim, in the split-second our mouths were parted.

I don't know if anybody was in the elevator, or wanted a ride—and Lord help them if they did, because I doubt we'd have stopped—Eric got us in, punched the buttons, and dove back into my embrace before I could glance around. Another three seconds of us smashed up against the elevator wall, hands going everywhere, and then he was kicking open our suite door, kicking it closed again, and sliding me down to my (wobbly) legs.

It had all taken less than a few minutes, and only now was my brain starting to function again. Breathless, I started to adjust my dress, tucking in the breast that had started to escape. _Okay, so I just came pretty close to public sex with Eric—okay, time to sober up, say you're sorry, and cool things down…How do I get out of this one? _

"Don't," Eric said hoarsely, and I glanced up to see him staring at me, his eyes glowing more than his skin. "Sookie, say it again." He tugged off his jacket, one perfectly carved shoulder at a time, and tossed it aside.

"I…I…" I wasn't dodging; his fitted shirt was more than a little distracting. Flares of heat lit up in my stomach, as his eyes didn't turn from me.

"Say it." His torso rippled in a long line of muscle as he peeled the shirt upwards. He threw aside his shirt, toed off his shoes. I swallowed.

He was by me now, moving my hair aside tenderly. "You and I both know what we want." His fingers moved deftly at my neck and I shivered as he peeled the dress carefully down my body, allowing me to step out of it and my shoes at once. His lips brushed my ear, making me tremble again. "Say it, lover." He stepped back from me and I was left bereft, standing there as he undid his pants and tugged them off without preamble.

"Sookie?" His hand was stretched out to me. The gaze he gave me was first but open, as vulnerable as his naked form.

I looked hesitantly as his face—no mockery, no tricks, just that expression that reminded me where home was. I swallowed roughly, shimmied out of my underwear to match his state, and edged to the bed.

"Eric." I knelt there, running my hands nervously down my bare and trembling thighs. I chanced another glance at his face—no leering, no lust, just that radiance that seemed to come from within him, that barely contained happiness.

Well, in for a penny, might as well be for a pound. I was not going to beg. If he rejected this—well, whatever. I bit my lip, raised my eyes to him, and managed to get it out in a whisper this time. "I love you."

I was kneeling on the bed as he lowered himself, with torturous slowness, on his knees, too—his long body easing lightly onto the bed, as if he feared I would run. Or would he? His eyes were open and marveling as they fixed on mine, simultaneously pinning me and plundering me.

I had never felt more naked.

He shifted a fraction forward. Every cell of my skin called to his as he came another inch forward, kneeling just ahead of me now. Part of me wanted to cover myself, unable to stand this nakedness, but another part of me ached for him to close those last inches. Even now, my stomach twisted, sensing the light spray of hair on his lower abdomen, just a hair's breath away from my own clenching belly; his pectorals, a hand's breath from my own painful, straining breasts; his knees, solid and sculpted, ready to slide his body over mine; his maleness, firm and wanting up against my stomach, vulnerable and defenseless below. I swallowed a sudden roughness, found myself lost in his blue gaze.

Neither of us either could, or wanted, to speak. His fingers, rough-skinned and gentle, eased between us, curving at my hips, tracing my sides as if I were a mare he meant to gentle. Normally, Eric makes love like a roller coaster joyously winding and exploding over its tracks. Tonight he touched me with all of the reverence of Michelangelo caressing his David.

"Trust me, my lover," he whispered. "Do not flee from me." Seeing one of his chest muscles move so perfectly in front of me, my stomach clenched; how could he want me, a silly barmaid, size ten (six on a good day)?

One of his hands—big hands, powerful hands, hands that could crush—cupped my chin with the tenderness of lifting an infant. His eyes never wavered, never wandered. "You are beautiful." Now his eyelids began to descend as he leaned in to me, as I slid my arms (braced next to my breasts) hesitantly up to wrap around his neck. I gave a little whimper as my stiff and needing nipples brushed him. His head ducked close to mine, his eyes shut as a lock of his hair fell softly forward between us. He gave his own tense, almost painful whisper, "So, so, beautiful." His arms folded me into him, brought me into an embrace I'd always known to trust, and abruptly that champagne bottle of sentiment bubbled over in me again.

"Don't cry," he murmured against my lips; my face made his own wet, but I could barely tell the difference between us. One of his hands slid downward, coaxed mine away from my belly, bringing our fingers together as if our hands had never met, didn't know how well they fit together. His lips eased mine open like two flower blossoms meeting; I pushed my tongue's heat back against his cool chill.

He drew back enough to speak again. "I care for you. I will care for you. Do not cry, my lover." His big thumbs stroked my cheeks and I even felt his tongue dab up my tears. "This is well." He murmured something in another language, like he did when we were in bed. "My Sookie."

His hand left my cheek to cup me below. "Let me please you, lover." His fingers, gentle fingers, smoothed down the front of my thighs, dipped to the sides, and then pressed delicately above. I hid my face in his chest and he spoke down, roughly and quietly, into my hair. "I will show you." I whimpered as fingers parted and stroked me; he answered with a growl from somewhere right below his own belly.

"Eric," I whispered restlessly, turning my face to nip slightly the chest against which I leaned, rotating my hips against the fluttering invasion of his fingers. He hissed as I pulled at his nipple; I inhaled sharply as a finger pushed farther into me.

"Let me love you," he said, suddenly turning my face upwards. I only moaned helplessly in response, moaning again as he stole back his clever hand to seize my face. My face must've shown my state, as the side of his mouth quirked up slyly.

"We have all night, my lover." He leaned into me and automatically, I reclined for him, for his body sliding over me, for his hips fitting above my own. His eyes were locked on mine and I knew what he was saying: we could have much, much longer than that.

"Eric," I whispered his name helplessly, as he began to rock into mine, keeping his eyes locked on mine.

"You love me." I gasped as he leaned in, lighting-quick, to drag an open-mouthed, open-fanged kiss across my neck. "You love me." I latched onto his butt; eyebrows up, he flexed it beneath my fingers. "Say it again."

"I—ohhhh." His hands had found my hips and were tilting them up. The slight kiss of hair there on his pelvis—meeting mine, retreating—took my breath away. I rolled my head back, luxuriating in the rub of his beard against my neck. "I need you."

"As I need you," he muttered into my neck, his hips picking up speed. This wasn't going to take long, I realized; already, the tell-tale quivers were shooting through his magnificent arms, the slight pant in his voice. As if realizing the same, his hand stole from my hip to down between us, pushing me farther on the pleasure spiral. "Say it."

"I love you!" I sobbed, and minutes later, he cried out above me, kissing me as if it were his last night on earth. My hands wrapped in his hair, refusing to let him go, as he kissed me desperately, murmuring whatever foreign phrase, probably ancient phrase, he'd always said when we were in bed.

I gulped down air as he crashed next to me, drawing me up beside him. "My goodness."

"You are very good indeed." He sounded amused. I didn't look at his face, choosing instead to snuggle my face into his side, rubbing my palm in circles over the span of his chest.

"Hmmm."

I felt his fingers twine in my hair. "What has your tongue, my Sookie? A vampire?" He sounded pleased, no doubt with his remembrance of the old English phrase. Idioms usually stumped Eric.

"You know, I would not be averse to hearing these feelings again," he murmured, in a darker, lower voice. How was it possible? We were naked and thoroughly sated, and he could speak just-so and my engine would be off and running again. Of course, my brain pointed out; he's just had a huge ego boost and sex to boost. Of course he just wants that. Not anything else.

"Enough of that," I mumbled, blinking away suddenly hot tears. I started to push off him—I'm not sure why, just to get away, I guess. All I knew was I wanted away.

"No." His hand was on my wrist, fingers stroking my skin. "No, never enough."

I looked away, sitting up. Behind me, I heard him sit up, too, and lean into me. I refused to look back at him.

"What upsets you?"

He sounded, bless him, genuinely stumped on this one. He may have been a thousand year old vampire, I thought with a teary hiccup, but he definitely had no clue in matters of the female heart. Then again, I thought with a fresh, lancing pain, he didn't like feelings. Hadn't he told me that himself?

"You are troubled. What is it?" He pulled my resistant chin back to face him. "Do you run from me again?"

I sniffled. "Me? I'm the one who said—" I choked off the words. I wouldn't beg.

"Sookie." His voice was so thoroughly commanding that I couldn't help but look right in his eyes. Suspiciously merry eyes, I noted irritably. What was so funny?

He said something again in what I assumed was his birth language; because he always talked in another language (at least somewhat) when we were finishing in bed together, it sounded familiar, although I hadn't a clue what it meant. "Do you know what that means, my Sookie?"

"I don't see why this is rele—"

His finger on my lips silenced me. His eyes were fairly glittering now and his mouth kept twisting as if he were a blink away from laughing out loud. I turned redder, angrier. "What does it mean, lover?"

"I don't know, okay?" I turned my head away, feeling now ignorant _and_ miserable.

He leaned in so that our cheeks brushed and whispered straight into my ear. "It means I love you."

Even with vampire speed, Eric almost was struck when I jerked around. "You've been saying that—you always say that—"

He smirked harder at me.

"That is _not_ fair! You mean you've been saying all along that you—" I lunged for a pillow and started swinging it at him as he fell back, laughing. "And all along I've been wondering, I didn't know—"

"And I said it first." He smiled smugly as he swatted away my pillow attacks. "I always knew you would come to your senses, lover."

"Why, you _ass_—"

"You said you loved it—oh, and the rest of me—"

"I am going to _kill_ you—"

"Too late for that, my sweet." He beamed at me and said that ancient phrase again.

He was laughing, shaking the bed with his mirth, holding up a single arm to ward off my pillow attacks. Of course I knew I wasn't hurting him—I _couldn't _hurt him, all things considered—but he turned aside, still roaring, as if to defend himself from my blows. I'm not sure he really meant to defend himself, though, as he just exposed his bare bottom to my eyes.

"Oooohhhh."

What? I'm a healthy, well-adjusted woman.

"I still cannot believe you prefer that over other parts of me." Eric had his head propped up on one hand, and he was smirking at me over his shoulder. He looked like a centerfold in a very naughty magazine.

I would buy a subscription in a heartbeat.

"It's gorgeous," I said, maybe a little too enthusiastically.

He flipped back on his back. The blanket had slid down, or he'd pushed it down—either way, he was all on display. "And this isn't?"

"Well, that's very nice, too. And then some," I added, just to soothe his raging ego. Which was not the only thing raging, I noticed.

He saw I'd noticed; his lower lip was stuck out. "Yes, I am hurting because of you."

"Poor honey." Setting aside my pillow, I leaned down to give him a kiss. And then a lick, too, I admit it.

He was thick and pulsing beneath my hands, which generously stroked what I couldn't take. I nuzzled him there, where he had his secret little patch of dark gold curls, and of course, his most impatient anatomy. I brushed him with my cheek, then my lips, watching across the flat plane of his chest as his arms sprawled back, helpless and powerful, by his head. I could see the tension in his big biceps, the dark patches of male hair at his arms, the way he'd tilted his chin up, the glint of his eyes rolling up skyward, his mouth gulping air he didn't in theory need. His hands clenched and his lips opened in a gasp as my mouth embraced him.

If there was a sight more beautiful, I'm not sure I could have imagined it.

His rising, twisting hips continued to seek me out needingly. I continued to love on him as best I could. (Eons ago, when we were in high school, Tara and I had practiced on various fruits, but there's a lot of difference between Eric and a banana.) I glowed with his joy and my own as my hands, stroking his hardness and softness both, wrung a final hoarse cry of my name from him.

I eased myself up next to him as he fell back against the pillows. My hand slid up his abdomen, feeling the trembling of the muscles there, still quivering from their exertion. His own enormous hands suddenly slid about me, tucking me into his side, and rolling us slightly.

"For that, lover, I am going to outdo myself."

I smiled back at him. "Glad you liked it."

"Oh, I did." His smile now was downright predatory as he leaned into me, his lips languid; his body might have been tired, but with that mouth alone, he could make love better than most men, I knew. I sighed in contentment, allowing his lips and tongue to toy idly with mine, my contented hands settling on his hair to massage his scalp. _This, this I could do all day and then some_, I thought, smiling into the beard scruff around his mouth.

So I was shocked when he slid us over again, pulling me beneath him. With one hand, he cupped my left thigh and drew it directly up, and with little preamble, slid in.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, his entry a welcome, but sudden, invasion.

He paused, frowning. "Too soon? Too much?"

"Ah…no." Now that the second was over, I could only feel the pleasant stretching, the way we fitted together all of the way, the way I already wanted to move against him. Eric looked unconvinced, so I smiled up at him. "Unexpected depths, remember?"

He gave me a curious look before abruptly barking out a laugh. "Ahhh, my Sookie." He leaned down to kiss my forehead, still keeping my leg up for deeper access. "I was right about that in many ways." He paused the motion of his hips and spoke again in that ancient language.

"I want to hear it in English." I pushed up for him. "I love you."

His eyes widened and then narrowed in on me. "And I you, my lover." I gave him a squeeze and he purred at me. "I love you."

If we weren't already making love, I'd have jumped him for the sheer sex he injected into that comment. It was so wrong, but it made tears spring to my eyes and made me want to kiss him all over again.

I was starting to feel myself start to get that wild shivery sense inside, but he paused the pistoning of his body to shift us; he swung us around so that he was sitting and I was before him, legs locked at his back. Slick with sweat, I clung to him. Our motions caused my sensitive breasts to scrape against his chest, a fact he exploited through his control of our pace. His strength made it easy for him to lift and lower me on his body, made it easy for him to drive me breathless and then, in a teasing moment, pause just before I hit bliss.

"Something you wanted, lover?" he asked, grinning with fangs out as he held me right above what I just knew to be the final plunge.

"Oh, sweet mother of God, Eric, I need you in me!"

"But of course." And with that, he slammed me down, and into another state of mind entirely. I was crying from my finish, a first for me, as he twisted us back down onto the mattress and pried himself away from me. I was still shaking all over from my release when I saw his blond head disappear from my immediate vision.

The rough lapping—a few delicate, pointed licks--I felt next almost had me flying off the bed. "Oh, Jesus, shepherd of Judea!" Well, maybe it wasn't quite the thing to say for the sake of the mood, but you try getting anything coherent out when you have a very naked Viking on top of you, apparently of the belief that one orgasm, or even two, just isn't enough. I felt his hands latch onto my hips, making it so that I couldn't wiggle away from his hands or the pleasure he was bringing me, pleasure he seemed intent on dolling out in slow increments. Little licks became long strokes; long strokes alternated with teasing flicks; teasing flicks became slow suction; slow suction became unexpected entry. Thrashing under his hands, I was sobbing again, arcing over the bed like a bow at full draw, tearing at his hair, by the time he brought me to my end.

"Oh, my Lord, Eric," I gasped. He crawled over me, grinning like a panther about to eat a particularly meal, and laid himself out next to me. His smile turned more self-gratified when he noticed my abundant admiration.

"Pleased?" His palm rubbed a breast at a time in circles, taking a second here or there to flick the nipple with a fingernail.

"I'm not sure it's possible to be more." Even at the risk of stroking Eric's excessive ego, the truth had to be told. "I might die."

"But would it not be the way to go?" He waggled his eyebrows and ran a tongue over his fang.

"Oh, you." I rolled over to lie across him, indulging myself with a lick of his chin. He smirked at me.

"And here I thought you weak mortals needed more time." His free hand cupped my butt in a very friendly fashion. A little _too _friendly, I realized, as his fingers explored in a rather unusual way.

"Oh!" I squirmed away and he laughed, pulling his hand back. I started babbling. What do you say to _that_? "I mean, I don't think I'm quite ready for—"

He had me on my back and his own face, smiling, was above mine. I stopped my apologies as I saw the merry light in his eyes. "You were just teasing me, weren't you?"

"Maybe." He licked his lips, and then mine for good measure. He winked wickedly at me as he pulled back. "Or…maybe not."

_AN: Just thought I'd release this chapter early, even though it is really one scene. __**cough cough**__ I hope you liked it! Thanks as always for your thoughts, reviews, etc.—they really make my day. _


	72. Chapter 72

_AN: Testing something here, as is having issues with its upload feature. Let's hope this works! _

"And here I thought you weak mortals needed more time." His free hand cupped my butt in a very friendly fashion. A little _too _friendly, I realized, as his fingers explored in a rather unusual way.

"Oh!" I squirmed away and he laughed, pulling his hand back. I started babbling. What do you say to _that_? "I mean, I don't think I'm quite ready for—"

He had me on my back and his own face, smiling, was above mine. I stopped my apologies as I saw the merry light in his eyes. "You were just teasing me, weren't you?"

"Maybe." He licked his lips, and then mine for good measure. He winked wickedly at me as he pulled back. "Or…maybe not."

Despite Eric's teasing, he actually wasn't sniffing around for more sex. (Well, at the moment. He _is_ Eric, after all.) We joked, we cuddled, and I found myself falling asleep snuggled up against him.

And I'll admit it. He does cuddle very well, just as he said.

I woke up to seeing a very amused Viking nose-to-nose with me. I was proud of myself for not jumping: it reminded me far too much of when my poor Tina would stand on my chest and stare at me until I woke up.

"Mmmm?" I asked very coherently. (A past Word of the Day.)

"Just watching you wake. It's very cute." He smiled at me and I stuck my tongue out at him automatically, only to find myself rapidly on my back with his tongue having captured mine. Apparently, he'd made up his mind (or some other part of his body) to continue on with his blitzkrieg tour of my body. When his hand reached down to brush my hip, though, my little whimper caused him to lift his head from my neck.

"Problem?"

My hand touched his chest hesitantly. "Could we wait a minute?" I knew it wasn't a problem for Eric; he was already rolling back a little, pulling his body off of mine to let us both settle on our sides.

"You are hurt? Do you need care?" He wasn't even leering, bless him.

"No, just not used to all…that." He beamed at me, apparently pleased with having realized he'd outdone himself. "And I don't want to use your blood." He glanced up sharply from where he was checking out the fresh bite mark on my inner thigh. I groped around for some reason that wouldn't offend him. I sucked in a breath and talking into my pillow. "I, um, like how it feels." And I did; I liked the ringing soreness that made every shift of my body call back memories of Eric's body merged with mine. Pillaging had been on tap: You can take the vampire of the Viking era, but you can't take the Viking out of the vampire, I guess.

"Then we will wait." Eric's voice sounded amused but not mocking. His big hand smoothed back the hair on my face.

I rubbed his chest. Not that that would make up for putting off sex, but I figured Eric's like a big cat—he just wants contact, and he'll take anything he can get. He practically purred at me as I stroked some of the fine hairs at the top of his pecs. They shimmered in the soft light.

"We should be looking in on the others, anyway. What will they think?" I doubted Jason would miss me, or even think about me, but you never knew.

Eric's fingers stroked the back of my hand. "They are fine. Pam will be watching matters in my absence."

"But how do you know?" I looked up from my study of his chest. "What if they called?" A bolt of real panic hit me. What if something had happened to Jason, and I'd been too caught up with Eric to notice?

"I am sure Pam would have called if she needed my attention. More than you did." He mumbled the last words, since he'd leaned over to start kissing my shoulder. My insides did a happy dance at this, but the worry didn't let up its grip.

"Shouldn't we check? Why don't you look at your phone?"

"I do not even know where my phone is," he protested.

"In your pants," I said automatically, and swatted his arm before he could make the joke I knew was on his lips. I glanced around the room and the tornado-like spread of clothing. "There, they're over there."

"Where?" Eric wasn't following my pointing finger, and I realized, with an impatient sigh, why. Of course Mr. Big Bad Sheriff wasn't used to picking up his own stuff. Oh, noooo.

It would be easier to crawl over him, but that would be a disaster; instead, I slid out of my side of the bed, acutely aware of Eric's eyes on my naked body as I crossed the room.

"The view is wonderful," he said behind me.

"You stay in that bed, buster." Stepping over the remains of my hair BumpIt, I pulled the jeans from out from under a chair—they kept going and going, making me wonder just how the heck long he was—and saw Eric leaning back on his side of the bed, smirking at me.

"Of course. What else would I do?" His hand was—

"Eric! You stop that!" I waved and he laughed, pulling his hand up to his stomach. That didn't change the very visible compliment he was paying me, but at least that wasn't as distracting as knowing he was…well, you know.

Fortunately, his phone was in his pants, so I scrambled back for the bed, prize in hand.

"Here's the phone, now look."

"Come and look with me." His eyebrow was up, in case I had any doubt about what he meant. This was not to be a technology lesson.

"Roll over," I said stubbornly. At least that way his chief weapon would be turned away from me.

He sighed theatrically as he flipped over. I sighed. Maybe _that_ wasn't his chief weapon. "You cannot get enough of my ass, can you?"

Well, he had a point there. I slid over him, perching right on that spectacular derriere so that I could see Eric below me working on his phone. And, in this position, I had a great view of the breadth of his shoulders. Their span was doubly impressive, given how slender his waist was. I ran my hands over the great wingspan of his shoulders automatically, as if to work out all of the kinks. He purred under me appreciatively, holding up the phone to his shoulder.

"As you see, there are no new messages. Nothing has happened during our little _talk_."

I had stretched out on top of him to see the phone at his shoulder; now his whole body shifted as I swatted his shoulder and he chuckled. I scratched the hairline at the base of his skull, and he made a contented noise. His head was tilted up, eyes closed, and I almost giggled, thinking of how much he resembled a big golden cat getting his ears scratched.

"You are amused." I guess he'd picked up on my mood. I noticed the corner of his mouth turn up. Yup, definitely. "What pleases you, my lover?" He turned his head so that I could see better the sapphire glint of his gaze, the lower lip still swollen from where I'd nipped him earlier.

"Nothing—hey!" Eric had jerked alert, shoving his body upwards and knocking me onto the bed behind him. He wasn't teasing; he wasn't even looking at me, but at the doorway ahead of his side of the bed.

"A vampire has been here," he said in a low voice. I started to move around him and his arm shot out, keeping me behind him, between his nude body and the door.

I touched his bare back. "Are you sure? This is a big hotel—"

He shook his head silently and abruptly stood up. He was moving towards the door before I could get a word out; I had to scamble, still naked, just to see him lingering by the door, a frown on his face.

"Wait!" I'd have bothered lowering my voice, but given a vamp could hear me even if I were whispering, it seemed a little stupid. I mimed a stake with my hands and nodded my head frantically towards the door.

"Ahh." He shook his head again. "It wasn't an enemy, I know that." I noticed he seemed a lot more relaxed now; had he been worried we'd been caught with our pants down?

That made me aware of another issue. As his hand grabbed the doorhandle, I realized something very important.

"Eric Northman! You can't just walk out there buck-naked!"

He glanced at me in amusement. Yes, the lethal Eric I'd felt before was all gone, and in his place, playful Eric was back. "Why not?"

"Because you're _naked!" _

"So?" His smile broadened.

I rolled my eyes. "What if there are children out there?"

"At this time of night?" He raised an eyebrow.

Okay, he had me there. "Well, maybe there are people who don't want to see you in your birthday suit!"

"Birthday suit?" He laughed. "Well, if it relaxes you, Sookie, I will be covered." By that, I saw in a blink, he meant a pillow he was holding at his groin, a pillow I didn't think covered everything. In another blink, he'd yanked open the door, grabbed something from the floor, and closed it again.

"No one there. You alone are my audience, lover." He dropped his pillow.

Oh, my. Would it be bad form to applaud that particular show?

It took me a few long seconds before I was ready to take in what he held in his hand—one of those overpriced gift bags you buy. Although I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a new one—most of Bon Temps reused their bags, and it had gotten to the point between Jason and I that we recognized each other's bags being returned.

"Pam," Eric said shortly. "I gather these are presents for you."

I gave him a nervous glance—was he angry? Irritated? "You know I didn't—"

His fingers waved me onwards. "I know. Open up your presents; she brought them here for a reason."

I pulled out copies of _Bride _and _The Knot_ magazine, cringing inside and flipping them over as quickly as possible, before Eric could see them. I ground my teeth to take my mind off the heat in my face. _Pam, you are so going to pay when I see you later_. Then my hands closed on long jewelry box—not a ring box, I realized with a surge of gratitude. There's only so much embarrassment I can take in one day. I sighed and flipped it open, and—

"Holy sh—I mean, oh my gosh! Eric!"

"Let's see what you received, lover." His tone was amused as he shifted over, still entirely naked, to sit beside me and peer over my shoulder.

It was a necklace, a simple chain with a small pendant hanging from it. From the shine of the stone, I figured this was a real diamond and not one of those stones you see on the Home Shopping Network. Jane Bodehouse used to buy all kinds of those things and wave them around Merlotte's, saying how valuable dymonique was.

"What do you think of it?" Eric murmured into my ear.

I spun around to face him. "This wasn't your idea, was it?" I know I sounded entirely ungrateful, but I couldn't fathom any other reason why Pam would be dropping off jewelry in the middle of the night.

"It was not my idea. I assure you."

"But I can't—it's so expensive—" I fidgeted, then shot a suspicious glance at him. "You're not paying for this, are you?

His eyes were guileless. "I did not pay for this. As I said, this is one of Pam's ideas." His hands were suddenly around my neck, working to fasten the clasp. His eyes remained tied to mine. "You must not say no to her."

"I don't think she likes that word much," I agreed, dazed. His lips brushed the back of my neck and I shivered all over.

"She is not the only one," he agreed, and then his hands were at my waist, tugging me against him.

"_Again_?" Maybe I made a convincing show of outrage. Then again, maybe pigs can fly.

"You say that like it's a bad thing, lover." He nuzzled right into my hair, his nose brushing my cheek. "Let me give you pleasure," he whispered. Eric's whispers did bad, bad things to a woman, I can promise you that. "I have just one condition…" The hair of his forearm brushed against my breast as he slid his hand upwards to touch the necklace. "Keep this on."

If I had an objection, it died in my mouth as his other hand felt free to convince me. Turning back into his lips, I kicked the magazine bag aside and allowed myself to be swept up and carried, Scarlett-style, back to the bedroom.

I'd always wondered about Scarlett's cat-that-ate-the-canary expression in the movie, but after that night, I'd learned just how she felt. Eric, true to his word, did his best to bring me a great deal of pleasure. (My orgasm jar had become orgasm oceans, by the time that man was through.) My body lifted and surged for his like the water rose for that little Magician's apprentice. But it wasn't just the acts of love that brought me there—although Eric knew very well the power of a finger tip, a tongue, a shift of his hips—but the little things—the way he pressed a kiss into my shoulder as if it were his last kiss on earth, the way his eyes darkened as he traced my cheekbones with his thumbs, the way he watched me as I shuddered through my after-shocks, his face as close to reverent as I've ever seen.

For a long several minutes, he said nothing, just watching me with hooded eyes. What was he thinking? I was afraid to know. I put my hand up to the roughness of his cheek and he turned his face subtly to my palm.

"Eric?"

"Yes?" His own hand stretched over to cup my face.

"I think I like Vegas."

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that. He stared at me a moment and then the bed shook with his laughter.

"I would like to get you a showgirl outfit," he finally leered at me.

I stuck my tongue out at him, placing a hand on the chest that suddenly was over mine. (Apparently, my tongue is the flytrap to Eric's spider. Or fly. Or, how, heavens, how can I think when he's doing _that_ with his tongue?) When our mouths finally parted, I gasped out, "You're not about to get that lucky."

"Try me," he grinned. He leaned down, so close our noses almost bumped, and that's when it happened.

My phone went off.

Eric's exclamation was pretty much the same as mine, even if it were in different languages. I scrambled out of the bed with a regretful exclamation, then dug around in the clothes for my phone. It took another few seconds before I popped it open.

"Yes?"

There was loud music in the background—a club, I gathered. "SOOK, I AM HAVING THE BEST NIGHT EVER."

My legs were still trembling, so I sat down and leaned back against the bed. "I'm glad, Jason, but I was sleeping." I tried to fake a yawn. It's pretty hard to do that when your body is on alert to do everything but sleep. Plus, it didn't help Eric had made an annoyed grunt when I lied. What was I to do? Tell my own brother just where Eric's hands had been last?

"I HAD TO CALL." He apparently also had to yell. I wondered momentarily if he was just drunk, or if it was the music. "I MET THE LOVE OF MY LIFE, I TELL YOU." Okay, definitely drunk, then. I rubbed a hand against my forehead.

"Can't this wait?"

"SOOK, SHE'S AWESOME! FUCKING AWESOME! I WAS GOING TO A GIRLIE—I MEAN, ONE OF THEM FANCY ARTSY SHOWS, YOU KNOW, WITH THE GIRLS WITH THE AWESOME TITS, AND DAMN, SHE WENT TOO! SHE LIKED IT! SHE MAY BE THE BEST WOMAN EVER." I heard a dramatic sigh on the line. "I SHOULD MARRY HER."

"Oh, no, you should not!" I'd seen enough comedies to know what happened to people in Vegas. "Look, I'm glad you had a nice time, so just get her name and number, and you can talk to her in the morning."

"I think he wants to talk to her at night," Eric murmured behind me on the bed. I swatted impatiently at him.

"I ALREADY KNOW HER NAME, SHE'S THAT PAM, THE VAMPER WHO WORKS WITH YOUR MAN—"

"_Pam?" _Eric and I exclaimed it at the same time.

A familiar voice, snarling, pierced the club cacophony. "What the fuck are you doing, Stackhouse? If you've stopped them from fucking, I'm going—" The phone went dead as I turned around to face Eric's eyes.

"I've got to go," I burst out, grabbing for my clothing. "If my brother does something stupid—"

I clambered to my feet, but immediately fell back on my butt; I'd been yanked to the bed by a Viking. "He will of course do a stupid thing." I was glad Eric didn't point out that Jason was still Jason, my brother. "And Pam will watch him."

"It sure didn't sound like she's watching him---he thinks he's going to _marry_ her?"

Eric just chuckled, prying my shirt from my hands and tossing it back to the floor. "He is intoxicated and she is merely keeping him safe." His fingers closed around my chin, making me look up at him. "My child would not marry without my consent."

Of course vamps would be traditional in that way. Being a good modern type, I scowled.

He grinned. "At least, not in a permanent sense." And winked, naturally.

I rolled my eyes but let myself be settled back next to him. "So, since this has come up—what's next? With Victor, I mean," I added hastily. I wasn't in any hurry to get to What's Next in the relationship department. Heck, it was hard enough to believe I even was _in_ a relationship, but I guess that's what happens when you spend hours in bed whispering sweet nothings. Or not-so-sweet somethings, ahem.

Eric was quiet—too quiet—for a good long minute while I drew my fingers across the terrain of his chest, memorizing all the hard-cut dips and curves. "I brought you here for a reason." His large fingers pressed just a second against my own bare back. "Victor is out of control. He has resorted to choices no sane vampire would make." He paused again. "What is that saying you have, the best protection is attacking?"

"The best defense is a good offense," I offered. I was willing to give him the football history of the phrase, but I didn't think Eric was the type to pay a lot of attention to the fall blitzes.

His chest moved under my hand as he nodded. "Correct. He wishes to infiltrate and attack my area; therefore, I will enter his own territory."

"But isn't this Felipe's?"

"Just so." His pointer finger tapped my shoulder. "We are in Felipe's court. Imagine if something were to happen to us here?" I glanced up at his face and saw Eric's eyebrows move significantly. "What would the King think of that?"

"He'd be real embarrassed, I guess." I "guessed" only because vamp rules of hospitality often differed from the rules I'd learned from Gran. (Not eating your guests being one of those rules.) Who's to say it wouldn't be just peachy with Felipe if some of his guests ended up in ashes or drained?

I must've guessed right; Eric hummed an "Umm-hmmm." "Correct. It would not do well. And Felipe would be forced to look into the deaths of his guests, and what would he find?"

"Victor, at the end of it all."

"Correct again." Eric's hand squeezed my hip. "And that would not be something Victor wants. Victor would like to gain power and wealth without attracting the attention of Felipe."

I sat up in the bed, turning to look down on my sprawled Viking. "So are you going to see Felipe?" A chill went through me, thinking back to a time in Eric's office. "Didn't Pam and Bill tell you—Eric, oh, no, you're not thinking of that stupid challenge they talked about?" Eric's eyebrow quirked upwards. "Eric, no!" I didn't know quite what they had talked about, when they'd spoken of a challenge, but Pam had made it clear it was a dangerous, and therefore fool-hardy, idea. Where Eric's safety was concerned, I was whole-heartedly on Team Pam. I glared down at Eric; his face was still suspiciously, stubbornly blank, although his hand didn't wave as it cupped my breast.

"Don't even tell me you plan to do something that could get you killed. Just no." I grabbed the hand against my breast, and pushed it harder against my skin. Both of his eyebrows went up. "I've lost—" A mental tally flitted through my brain, like some kind of reel of horror. My parents. Gran. And even, in his own way, Bill. "I'm not losing this, Eric," I finally said, as fiercely as I could.

His eyes, cold blue ice, were up to mine; our noses were brushing. "You order me?" He wasn't threatening me, but his voice was dark nonetheless.

I stared right back, squeezing that hand again. "What's it going to take to stop you?"

Now his eyebrows lowered slightly and his face relaxed. He was thoughtful, too thoughtful. "What have you to offer?"

On another day, in another minute, he'd be leering those words, but right now, with us both naked and well sated, my heart in his hands, what else did I have to give him? I set my jaw unhappily, stared down at the bed.

The hand under my heart moved in a sudden, small caress. "A promise."

I glanced upwards suddenly. "A promise? What kind?" I'm sure my eyebrow was giving his a run for its money.

His old trademark smile was back, smirking just a little bit at me. "A simple promise, nothing more. Afraid?"

_Of the Big, Bad Viking?_ I felt my heartbeat jump as he regarded my breasts and licked his lips. _Not quite._

He was smirking out right when I looked back at him. "What's this promise, then?"

"You'll give me something I want when I ask for it. Nothing more." He held up a sudden finger. "I will ask nothing of you that will pain you."

"So you won't ask me to quit my job, or kill anybody you happen not to like?" I had a feeling I'd better secure Bill and Quinn's safety.

"Correct." He smirked again. "I'm sure I can convince you to the first, and as for the latter, let them die of…._jealousy_." In a second, I was on my back and he was over me once more; his fangs were out and his eyes excited.

"One promise, and I am yours, lover. Come now, decide."

His eyes did their best to glamour me. "I just give you this promise and you agree not to challenge Felipe or otherwise get yourself killed, right?"

"Correct." Eric's eyes had become even brighter, if that was possible.

"Then, okay, I agree. Ooomphh!" I had little time to agree to anything more than that, because a Viking mouth was set on pillaging my own, apparently. I scrambled for leverage against his shoulders. We parted, but Eric didn't pull back enough for me not to see the glee in his eyes.

"What on earth are you so happy about?" I poked him—literally. Granted, my own finger almost broke off next to the hard wall of muscle in his chest, but I definitely poked him. Hard, too, as my gut started to bundle up in into a nervous ball, increasingly aware I might've made a deal with a devil of ice, not flame.

"Thank you, lover." He smiled hugely again and snuggled up to my hand. His lips pressed lightly against my knuckles. "You have given me a great present."

"I'd say you're welcome if I had any idea what you're talking about."

My snippiness didn't put him off at all. "You will." He kissed my hand

"Well, I get what I wanted, too—you're not going to do anything hare-brained about Felipe." I tried half-heartedly to hug my hand back from his lips; oh, darn, he just wasn't releasing it.

A girl could really get used to this kind of oppression, I've got to say.

He smirked over my hands at me, those sapphires dancing. "I had no intention of doing that, anyway."

"Huh?" Sure it was inelegant, but sometimes, your brain can't work fast enough to get out a proper "What?"

"I am no fool, my beauty." He kissed my hand again, lightly. "Although I do appreciate your concern. I was very moved." His eyes flicked downwards and then back up; yeah, I got just how "moved" he was. Moving right up against my thigh, apparently.

I suppose my irritation showed on my face, as Eric tugged my hand to bring my attention back to the bed, and to us. "Now, lover, do not be a shrew. We have a deal and you will honor it. You owe me a promise, love."

"You tricked me! I'm not doing anything for you!"

His laughter tickled my skin. "A contract made is a contract to be paid, lover."

I sulked; I couldn't help it. "And what is this so-called _contract_?"

He smiled above me, showing fang. "Do not worry, love. You will like it." He winked. "I certainly will."

"Oh, hell!"

_AN: Thanks as always for reviews! I'm sorry for the tardiness of this chapter—Sookie and Eric just weren't going to get out of bed, no matter what I tried. _


	73. Chapter 73

I suppose my irritation showed on my face, as Eric tugged my hand to bring my attention back to the bed, and to us. "Now, lover, do not be a shrew. We have a deal and you will honor it. You owe me a promise, love."

"You tricked me! I'm not doing anything for you!"

His laughter tickled my skin. "A contract made is a contract to be paid, lover."

I sulked; I couldn't help it. "And what is this so-called _contract_?"

He smiled above me, showing fang. "Do not worry, love. You will like it." He winked. "I certainly will."

"Oh, hell!"

It was almost noon when I got up again—yawning, because my body was on "vamp time" lately, and it wanted to snuggle with the blond beast still in my bed. I studied him as I stretched—he was face down on his pillow, his mouth slightly open (was he drooling?), and the _piece de resistance_: he'd kicked off his sheets. I knew blankets, and sheets for that matter, were utterly immaterial to vampires, so it wasn't that he become too hot or cold. I also knew (from close personal observation) that Eric tended to sleep under sheets regardless, just out of a matter of habit.

But he'd kicked them off. And I could guess why. I leaned over and patted the "whys" in question, his cute little tush just begging for my attention. And I didn't have to feel guilty about it, I reminded myself. _He loves me. I love him. _I couldn't help but giggle: what would Pam think? _He's my boyfriend_. I frowned. That didn't quite capture him, but then again—

"I am _not _calling you 'my lover,' honey. You can just forget that right now." I ruffled his hair affectionately, leaned over and gave him a lingering kiss on the swell of his shoulder. My emotions were as jumbled as the contents of one of those old-fashioned gum ball machines, but I couldn't find it in myself to do more than toy with his hair. Memories came back to me, making my body flush and my brain, well, want to go find someone to high-five.

"You are pretty good, but don't get used to that, buster," I advised my sleeping companion, smiling.

I remembered, with a throb, how he'd been stroking my back and he rolled me all the way over to give my butt a good fondle. Eric's a boob man, no doubt at all about that—heck, you should see how his eyes light up just seeing a bra—but he wasn't disinterested in my booty. Which, unfortunately, is just as blessed as my chest.

"_Stop that," I grumbled into my pillow, embarrassed. Granted, I'd seen every square centimeter of him (right down to that birthmark Pam had mentioned), but it still seemed a little uncomfortable for him to be looking right at my most unflattering angle. Or angles, I guess. _

"_You don't need to look at my butt. It's not perfect like yours," I groused, reaching back to swat at the hand giving me an enthusiastic squeeze. "I know I need to lose a few pounds." _

_Eric laughed out right. "Are we at that stage?" _

_It was at the tip of my tongue to ask, "We?" but instead I bit my lip. "Stage?" _

_He pushed me over again so that we were eye-to-eye. "The stage where you suddenly doubt my attraction to you, despite all evidence." His hand put my hand right on that "evidence."_

_I frowned at him. "I'm not being a drama queen, I am just saying, I know what parts are best"—I squeezed my breasts together, just for ego's sake; Eric's face was like a kid suddenly dropped into a toy store—"and I know what ones aren't." I scratched his jawline and was rewarded with a low growl. "After all, you just started in on me after you saw my boobs that time with the maenad."_

_Eric's eyebrows went up. "Au contraire, my vixen." He leaned down and I thought for a second he'd give me one of his stomach-flopping kisses, but instead he just nipped lightly at my lip before looking me in the eye again. "Although the sight of you topless was one of the best days of my existence, I will say that." I must've rolled my eyes, because his fingers tickled my sides, making me look at him again. "I knew from the minute I saw you. Pam teased me greatly." His teeth were white and fully out. "You were too innocent and did not look down to see my reaction to you."_

"_Oh, uck, Eric." Granted, it's all good when your partner says he is attracted to you, but we weren't together then, and that's just gross. I stretched one arm lazily around his neck, playing again with the thick hair, while my other hand played with the thick hair below. "And so what did you know?" Okay, I was flirting. I was asking for it. Who doesn't want a good ego-stroke?_

_If I was expecting sweet nothings, or words of the future, or even thoughts of feelings, those assumptions flew out the window. Instead, his eyes filled my vision, large, blue, and very hungry. His voice made my stomach muscles clench. "Your body needed mine," he growled. _

I shivered again at the memory. "Nobody ever said you were humble, baby." I tried not to giggle at the idea of his reaction to that endearment. I'd have to try it in front of Pam sometime.

That thought, that there were others in Vegas with us, made me force myself up. I made myself shuffle out of bed (reluctantly) and start to get my things together for the day. I wasn't quite sure yet what use I was going to make of myself, but I definitely didn't intend to fritter away my day, waiting for Prince Draining to rise. Or to come make demands on me, I thought, reminding myself that I was supposedly beholden to this man. _No doubt he just wants me to play-act some kind of sex fantasy_. That made me pause. What kind of sex fantasy could Eric possibly have? One that he couldn't fulfill in one thousand years? Some kind of weird kidnap-the-villager thing? Some kind of pirate-y theme, since he liked boats so much? A re-enactment of the first night at Fangtasia, where instead of leaving with Bill, I threw myself at him? Or was he going to ask for some ridiculous showgirl piece? (I winced at the thought of being asked to wear tassels, but so long as it was just, and if it made him happy…) I had a feeling he wouldn't ask me to involve anybody else in our private matters, but I wouldn't put a video request out of his boundaries. (Such that Eric had.)

"You better not be thinking of us making a sex tape," I told him firmly. Not surprisingly, he didn't answer.

I sighed again. It was time to get moving. Even though I could really, really, really watch that a bit longer, I thought to myself, allowing myself one last ogle of Eric's sleeping form.

"Well, hell, you could've given me some warning," Jason groused, dropping into the seat next to me.

Jason was not at his best because I'd woken him up (hammering on his door when he didn't answer his phone) and then I'd promptly refused to wait in his room while he got cleaned up. It'd be one thing if I knew Jason had just slept in that room. It'd be another, as I very strongly suspected, to know Jason likely had company.

There are some things a girl just doesn't want to dwell on.

"I thought you'd want to be up. You don't want to miss your time here in Vegas, after all." Your free vacation is more like it, but I didn't want to rub that in. Jason was just doing what the rest of us were doing, trying to make a little extra where he could.

"Yeah, I guess." He rubbed his eyes, and then finally took in our surroundings. I'd decided to get in a bit of pool time today—or at least, sunbathing by the pool. Sure, it'll get you cancer in the end, but the way I'm living, who is to say I'm going to make it to that end? And as entertainments go, it's pretty cheap, which was important to me just then. Not that I'm cash-rich in Bon Temps either, but Vegas is a pricey city, the kind where it costs more than a dollar just to buy a Coke. I had set aside a little money for some sight-seeing and maybe gambling a bit (on my last day), but I didn't have the funds to spend frivolously. I figured I would try to mix a few cheap entertainments with the pricier ones, and that way, get a nice vacation that didn't suck me dry. (A phrase that felt funny to me, as it was my vampire that had expressly told me to use his money during the day. I just couldn't bring myself to do that, though, no matter how things stood between us. At least not for silly things.)

Next to me, Jason was giving an order—that is, hitting on--a waitress for the pool area for assistance applying his sunscreen. "Missy" giggled and headed off to get his drink. Like a spell broken, Jason's attention snapped back to me. "So you and your man do okay last night?" I choked slightly on my water. _More than okay, I think it is safe to say_. "Your man's vamper, that Pam chick, she was all worried you'd be fighting again."

I adjusted my sunglasses, taking my own sweet time before answering. "No fighting here—what about you?" I inspected his hands from where I sat—thank goodness, no ring that I could see.

Jason peeled off his t-shirt and dropped it down next to me. I frowned, blocking out the array of lustful thoughts rising from various pool members. "We had us a good time, but I think I'm going to have a good time today, if you don't mind. You stayin' here?"

"Sure, sure." I knew a hint well enough. Sipping my drink, I waved my hand and watched Jason disappear amidst his personal heaven, the pool of young giggling women.

Well, that kept Jason safe for the afternoon. Time for me to catch up on my own entertainment, then. I dug my romance novel out of my bag—it was one of my favorites, not the least because it gave the funny but gorgeous secondary character a lot of space. Unlike the TV show based on it, which Tara and I always talked about on Sunday nights.

"How the hell don't they know that man is _fine_?" I remember Tara saying, gesturing to the actor playing our favorite. "The whole show should be him butt-naked! Who the fuck cares about the other guy!"

I nodded enthusiastically at that memory as I dove back into my book and an exceptionally fascinating story of a shower. But my relaxation was not to be. "Hello," said the sulkiest voice I'd heard in a long time. I glanced up, but the general outcry of feminine thoughts—almost all of the _OH, MY GOD_ variety—told me who it was even before I saw him.

Claude glared down at me. Or at least, I think he did—it was hard to see him for the giant sunglasses he had on his face. I guess Claudine wasn't the only diva in the family.

"Howdy, Claude," I said obediently, as he flopped unhappily onto the mat by my chair. He surveyed the glittering pool area.

"No wonder Claudine couldn't come—it's all boobs here," he grumbled. "Should've known to say no."

"Nice to see you too, cousin." My tone was more waspish than it should have been, I admit. "I didn't know you were coming to Vegas?"

Claude flopped backwards with a loud sigh. "I came to check out the competition. And to help out my sister. She wanted to go shopping today and I thought I might see something pretty myself." I had a feeling he wasn't talking about clothes. "Did you scare away all the hot pieces, or what?"

"Oh, shut it." I flipped over irritably. Why did I left Claude get under my skin?

Claude rolled over onto his stomach, too. Did he have to mirror me? "Last I heard, you weren't _shutting _it. Did you get a piece of that Viking yet?"

"I'm not talking about my personal life, Claude, any more than you are talking about yours."

He snorted into his arm. "Don't tempt me, cousin."

"Wouldn't think of it," I muttered back. Cold water drizzled on me and I yelped, jerking upwards.

"Well, hey, you found a friend, Sook!" Jason beamed over us. Way too happily, Claude beamed back.

I saw my jaw irritably. "Claude, you remember, _my brother_, Jason. Jason, this is my, um, old friend, Claude."

"Very old," added Claude dryly.

"Hell, this is a big coincidence," Jason grabbed a chair by us. "How many people from Bon Temps going to show up here?"

"Coincidence, bullshit." Leave it to Claude to drop any social niceties. He pulled out his phone and stared at it a second, and then peeked over at Jason. _Was he taking pictures of Jason_? Before I could object, he spoke again. "I'm helping family. And I thought I could pick up some new ideas from the clubs around here." He smiled over his phone at Jason. "You like the clubs?"

From the look on Jason's face, he'd just remembered Claude. "Yeah, I went to one last night, with the hottest damn woman you ever saw," Jason shot back defensively. I had to give him credit. We were born and raised in a society that trained straight men to react aggressively to gay men, but Jason was being pretty civil. Especially since Claude apparently maintained all of the familial boundaries of the people on that _Jerry Springer_ show.

"We should all go together some time. Bring Northman." Claude smirked at me. "If you can handle the competition."

"I don't think so." I was tempted to throw my book at him.

He shrugged and typed in a few more messages on his phone. What on earth could he possibly be doing? Updating some blog to say he was being a pain in the ass, yet again? "He just hasn't discovered the best way, that's all." His eyes flashed over at me again. "Unless you let--?"

"That's none of your business!"

"What the hell are you all talking about?" Jason, bless him, caught on at least that I was getting annoyed. "You bugging my sister?"

"No, it's just an old….joke." I smiled at Jason reassuringly, all the while chanting to myself, _This is for your own protection. Plus, I don't think Gran would ever approve of allowing anyone to kick your cousin's rear. Even if he so deserves it. _

Jason gave Claude a suspicious look but was quickly distracted by a bikini-wearing tourist. I watched him go without regret; I doubted I could get Claude to settle down fast, and if Jason was otherwise "occupied," that would solve my problem of heading off a show-down between the two.

Thinking of Claude, I frowned. "Don't you have any limits?" I hissed out of the corner of my mouth. "You do know he is your blood, don't you?"

Claude shrugged. "It's distant. No biggie."

Well, what could you say to that? I fell back on my lounge chair and shielded my eyes from the sun. I wished Eric was here; I thought about texting him and telling him I missed him, but I didn't want to disturb his sleep. He'd just stay up and try to talk to me via the texts, and he had to be tired, too. (I had my own Eric-worthy smirk at that thought.) I wondered what all the vamps did when they slept—did any of them text people, too? I wondered idly if Eric sent messages to anybody else—probably that awful Bobby Burnham, his day guy, I bet. Eric was such a control freak about Fangtasia that he probably pestered Bobby for details on Fangtasia and his business in general, even if he was supposed to be sleeping.

My jaw popped down like a ventriloquist's dummy's. _His day man._ Every vamp had a "day guy," the human partner who ran the ship during the day. (I had once joked that Bobby was the Robin to Eric's Batman, but Pam objected vigorously to that.) And every vamp also carefully ignored this fact, preferring to keep up the façade that vamps were all-powerful and didn't need human help at all. I'd asked Eric once why none of the other Supes had ever targeted Bobby, and he had uneasily indicated that wasn't kosher (my word of the day) in the Supe world. Then I asked why they targeted _me_, if it was off-limits for humans, and Eric just frowned and said I was "important." Which was a nice little compliment in itself, but wrong, because it suggested day guys like Bobby Burnham were not valuable to their vampires. In fact, Bobby (and the other day guys) were pretty much walking databases for their vamps; they knew all of their secrets, even down to the vamp's shoe size.

I chewed my lip and squinted reflectively at the bright silver flashes in the water. _If all vamps have day guys, then so does Victor Madden. And that day guy knows _everything_ about his vamp, or damned close_.

I whipped over so fast that Claude actually hopped a little on his mat. "Does your phone have the Internet on it?"

"Of course." Claude's sneer was weak, though—he was clutching the phone to his chest defensively. "And you can't use it—you'll break it!" he added desperately.

"I'll tell Claudine what you did to Jason there," I hissed.

"Fine," he spat, and handed it over.

It took a few minutes of trying—despite what they say, those newer phones are not all that easy to use—but I finally got to Bill's database and logged in. There was Victor, yes, and yup, there was a mini-profile for his day guy. I followed the link for "Current Human Aide" (that was what the vamps called their day people), and there he was—the forty year old Oliver Crandle of Las Vegas, Nevada. _1758 Rallet Lane_, I read, memorizing the words as fast as possible.

"Bingo," I whispered.

"Definitely not hired for his looks," Claude commented over my shoulder. "And don't even think about it." His hand, delicate but strong, closed around my own, pulling the phone away.

I let him have the phone back reluctantly. "Claude…what would you say if we took a little road trip? Did some sight-seeing?"

He snorted at me. "There are idiots in our line but they aren't me, cousin." His fingers waved dismissively at me. "Just get some sun and forget about it. I'm not chasing your ass all over Vegas, and your man would have my ass if I let you." He lowered his glasses to peer over their dark frames. "And not in a good way."

"Shut up, Claude," I growled automatically. I resumed my pose on the lounger, watching the tourists play in the water. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jason flexing his muscles for a pair of college-age girls.

"This must be so boring for you, just watching us," I offered. "There are, what, two men here?" And one is related to you, I wanted to add, but Claude had already indicated that wasn't a problem. I swallowed my bile.

"Nice try, sweetheart. Not buying. Now, unless you can get Ryan Reynolds here in a speedo, I suggest you shut up and just work on your tan."

Well, I didn't have that. (Although Arlene did have his picture up in the kitchen at Merlotte's; Sam had wanted to take it down, but Lafayette had put his foot down, and that was that.) I didn't even have Eric's picture on my phone—_that_ picture—as I'd deleted it. And I couldn't just hand over Jason in any fashion, because unlike Claude, I had my limits. You know those stories you hear about southern families? Well, Gran would have your hide for even suggesting such a thing happened in our family. I reached down to take a drink and my hand closed over my glass.

"Look, I'll make you a deal. You go to the day spa or—wherever you go," I stumbled, wondering if Claude would like a clay mask and a massage or not—"and I'll be back in two hours. Just two hours."

"Do I give a fuck? No." I couldn't see Claude's eyes, since his sunglasses were blocking them; the rest of his face was immobile.

"You mean no, you were wrong." I leaned over, my drink in my hand, and snarled right in his ear. "Because I've got a lemon wedge here, and I'm not afraid to use it."

_AN: I am so sorry this is a short and tardy chapter. I'm working out an issue with the next section, but I wanted to get something out for you, as this has been taking so long. I promise to post ASAP with the next chapter. As always, I love to hear your thoughts, and my gratitude for every single one of them! _


	74. Chapter 74

A little more than a half-hour later, I was in a rental car with Jason, heading toward Oliver Crandle's. (It had one of those new GPS units in it; I had no clue how the thing worked, but Jason, surprisingly, figured it out right away.) In my purse, I was sure my cell phone was flashing text messages—probably from Eric ("Is it so impossible for you to sit still, woman?") or Sam ("Whatever you are doing is too dangerous—come home!")

I glanced over at my driving companion. I'd wanted to leave Jason back at the hotel, too, but he'd had a fit when he saw me going. Partly because he was afraid for me, I'm sure, but also because, as he put it, "that weird dude with the ears keeps _looking_ at me, and I ain't sticking around here without you!" I wanted badly to fill Jason in on "that weird dude," but I figured that would freak Jason out even more.

"So, we're just going to find out what's going on with the bad fanger, right?" Jason summed up my quick lecture on all that had happened to Fangtasia and its occupants. "But don't you all already know? You said he's broke?"

"Kind of." I pulled down a side street and automatically reached out to swat Jason on the arm as he whistled at two ladies jogging. "We know he wants money, and he seems to want it from—Fangtasia." I'd never quite gotten around to explaining Areas to Jason.

"So why doesn't your man just eat him or something?"

"He's a vampire, not a cannibal!" I hissed.

"But how's drinking blood any different than eating—"

"Okay, NOT having this conversation, Jason." I eyeballed a tall blond man doing his own jogging. It reminded me of a certain oversized White Rabbit of my own, running barefoot on a winter's night…Running in just his jeans…All of his long, lean muscles rippling….

A hand grabbed mine on the wheel. "Damn, Sook, don't get us killed next time you're checking a dude out! You have to learn to be subtle, like me."

I hunched over in embarrassment. "I wasn't checking anybody out!"

"Yeah, right. Hey, look, isn't this the street?"

We pulled up to the curb. Since I had no idea what I was doing, I'd just brought my purse and cell phone. Unless Oliver Crandle was an unlisted shifter or were—highly unlikely, given Bill's obsessive level of research—I already had my own weapon in Jason. If he'd just remember he could turn, that is.

I pushed back memories of the airplane incident and headed towards the door. "Remember, all we're here for is to talk. Eric said Victor already has to know we're in town, so this isn't going to be a big surprise—" I pushed the doorbell and turned to look at my brother.

"Yeah, yeah. Sook, you talk too much." The door was opening, revealing a short Hispanic man—the very man himself. He took a step backward as my brother tore the door open and stepped forward.

"You Crandle?" Jason asked harshly, before I could open my mouth.

"Then it is time to talk, you son-of-a-bitch." And maybe he would have, but for the fact Jason threw back his arm and punched the man square in the face.

Jason stepped over the fallen body of our target and turned back to me. "Now, that, Sook, is how you solve a problem."

Maybe if I were a different woman, I'd be screaming or wailing, but we Stackhouses just aren't that kind. I swallowed my horror and plowed on inside. We weren't here to make friends, after all, I reminded myself.

"Can you tie him up or something? And see if you've done more than knocked him out?"

Jason peered down at Crandle's face. "Ain't no blood—doubt he lost teeth. Just knocked him out, that's all."

"That's all," I mumbled numbly. "Well, let's secure him."

Jason ended up finding some electrical cords and tying up Crandle—I _really_ didn't want to think what kind of shows he'd been watching, to give him that idea. I insisted that Crandle be put somewhere semi-comfortable, with the hopes he'd be a little more willing to talk to us.

Jason approved. "So you're like, the good cop, and I'm the bad ass, is that it?"

"I guess." I left Jason with Crandle as I ran through the house, scanning it as quickly as I could. Not surprisingly, there wasn't a lot of paperwork left around with "Diabolical Master Plans" as a heading. From the bills stacked on his desk, I could determine that Victor was likely low in money, but was that anything we didn't know?

"SOOK! HE'S UP!" Jason's voice made the floorboards shudder. I frowned—good thing Crandle didn't live in an apartment, or the entire building would know.

Crandle was indeed awake, I saw, as I came back into the living room. He was glaring at Jason across his duct-taped gag, and his eyes widened at the sight of me. I dropped my shields and focused as hard as I could on his brain:

_Shit, it's Northman's wife. What the fuck is she doing here? Can't she read minds of something? Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm dead._

"We're not going to hurt you." I knelt on the floor by the couch, trying to get eye contact with Crandle. "I promise."

He shook his head but his thoughts kept rattling on. In moments of panic, people just can't help themselves from thinking, I've found. _Why the fuck is Mrs. Northman here? Madden's dead? Shit, that means I'm out of dough for cable now. Not that he's paid me in a year, but fuck, what now?_

I frowned. He didn't make sense to me, but I didn't expect that. And why did he think I was married to Eric? He must've confused the bond with something else. "If you tell us what is going on with Victor and Area 5 in Louisiana, everything will be fine," I said soothingly.

"Yeah, so talk, mother-fucker," Jason growled behind me. "You getting somethin', Sook?"

I tapped Jason's leg with my free hand, so as not to give away just how much I was hearing. "We know Victor wants money—how did he lose money?" Victor's thoughts flashed by so fast I only saw images—housing loans, from the look of it. He must've lost money with all of those banks who did deals in bad mortgages. "Why does he want Area 5?" Again, a torrent of images fairly leaped off Crandle's head—Victor, smugly informing Crandle of the take-over; Victor, telling someone on the phone that Eric wasn't "with" Felipe and couldn't be trusted; a furious Victor, telling Crandle that the Vegas king was "up Northman's ass" because "his human wife saved the king from some sneak-attack she probably set up in the first place."

I sat back on my heels, staring at Crandle. "He hates Eric. That's it?" Crandle's face was stiff as he attempted to resist me, but I put my hand on his leg and forced my mind in.

_He wants it all—the area, the king to be at his back, a telepath of his own. _An enraged Victor rose up in Crandle's memories. "_Fucking Northman acts like a king and even takes a human wife, and nobody says a word about it," _he yelled at a cowering Crandle.

"But Eric's not my husband," I blurted out. Crandle's eyes widened, and while he couldn't say anything, his thoughts came in a rush—vague figures acting out a blood bond, as if he'd been told about that, and Victor's ranting words, _"The bastard showed the king the ritual knife—we can't take her here, because of him. So now he gets to keep his telepath and that's just fine, Castro says. Fine. I'm his second, and do I have a telepath? Can I defy the king? The bastard should be staked one and for all, before he tries anything else…"_

A warm hand on my shoulder made me jump. "You okay, Sook? That shit upsetting you?" It took me a second to realize I was actually shivering, and that Jason was glaring with clear intent at an anxious Crandle.

"No—I think I know what we wanted," I said lowly, allowing Jason to help me to my feet. I almost fell off my shoes, I admit it. I stared down at my feet, willing the feeling back into them. My senses lit up with memories: the hard wall of Eric's chest beneath my hands, the urgent gleam in his eyes as he said my name, the scent of his cologne still on the cloak he wrapped around us, the lave of his tongue against the wounds he'd created, the thick sweetness of his blood as I ingested it as well. More memories jumped before my eyes: the hooded Eric, proclaiming a marriage after using a ceremonial knife…_Mrs. Northman_…._Northman's wife_….A knife that wasn't in the room twisted in me. _Had I been lied to again? Had Eric, _Eric, _lied to me? _

"No." Nausea made me momentarily weak; I clutched Jason's hand. "No." I shook my head. I would sort this out with Eric later. I wouldn't go assuming anything.

"We're going to let you go, but I want you to know this—" I started, fumbling for words against the pain within me.

"I'll handle this." Once again, Jason stepped in front of me. He grabbed Crandle by the front of his shirt. "Look, fuck, you want to live, you'll stay the fuck out of our business. Got that? Good. Now we're leaving, but we'll have someone bust you out of here, and you're going to keep your mouth shut, you got that?" Crandle nodded again.

I didn't have the energy to yell at Jason for being rude—not that I necessarily wanted to be polite, but I had a feeling Gran wouldn't approve of Jason as he went on to spell out just what he would do to the day man. (Most of which, I suspected, had been lifted from the plots of action movies.) Instead, I just hugged myself, waiting for us to head home, waiting to think about what I could ask Eric—and what I didn't want to know.

Jason apparently picked up on my mood, as he steered me right to the car without a word. The only thing he said, once we got in the car, was, "We'll have to figure out how to get somebody to let that guy go. What if he's got to use the john or something?"

"Claude, we'll get Claude, " I mumbled. Would he know? I tried to imagine asking Claude about a knife and a blood-bond, and just how hard he'd laugh at my expense. I dashed a stinging wetness from my eyes. _Don't think, don't doubt, just ask Eric….something, anyway, it's all okay. He loves me. He does. _I swallowed again, painfully. _He's not Bill. _That made me swallow again, the hard knot that was in my throat and wasn't going anywhere. I straightened my back. Stackhouses didn't sob and carry on on the streets. I'd done enough of that in New Orleans and I was never, ever, going to do that again.

We drove to the hotel and I stared mindlessly out at the passing cars. Doubt hammered away at my brain, sending thoughts that just would not stop coming. Who would know about this? How could I wait until nightfall to know if I'd been manipulated yet again? The hot flashing pain in my chest hurt and numbed me all at once; I stumbled, walking back to the hotel, and would've fallen but for Jason's quick hand.

"You okay there?" he asked, and I waved him off.

No, I was not okay.

I couldn't stand the thought of sitting in our room—so close to Eric, so close to my heart being shattered and this time for good—so I went back to the pool area. And still, though I tried to read my book, to close my eyes, to enjoy a tan, nothing in the world could stop me from feeling, over and over again, that a knife was plunged right over my emotions, ready to rip through them at any second.

I felt my phone vibrate through my bag, a sign of yet another text message. The phone had been buzzing since I got back into the car, after Crandle's. I assumed it was Eric but I couldn't bring myself to look. Was he worried about me? Or worried about his _possession_, whom he'd captured so effortlessly? Just another stupid human out-foxed by another scheming vampire…

A shadow draped over me. "Why the fuck are you crying?" Despite the bird I flipped him, Claude sat down easily next to me, and as punishment, I guess, for my behavior, began oiling himself up with SPF. Normally, that might do something for me—he _is_ gorgeous, no doubt about it—but today it was just supremely annoying. I really didn't want to talk to yet another sexy Supe who thought I was an idiot.

"Save the gestures. What's the problem, Cousin?" He peered at me over his expensive designer sunglasses. Or were they fakes? It beat me. "My sister wants you happy, so get happy."

"Oh, fine, just give me a moment," I muttered sourly. "Anything you say."

"Quit being a bitch," he shot back without hesitation. "What's the problem?"

Claude might be the last person—well, next-to-last person—I'd want to confide in at this moment. Still, there were advantages. I couldn't ask Sam about any of this—there's no way he knew about a secret marriage, or he'd have blown a gasket. I couldn't call Amelia, as she'd be just as clueless as I was. But Claude heard things, and knew things—

--that is, if he bothered to care. That thought drew me up short. _Well, if Claude was off the list, who else could I ask? _

"Can I talk to Claudine, somehow?"

Claude looked offended—and I can't say I blamed him, since he'd tried to be there for me and I'd promptly rejected him. Then his face eased up. "Oh, it's a bleeding issue, isn't it?" Gran would've smacked me for answering that question, so I just sat silent as he punched a few numbers in his phone and handed it over to me.

"Cousin darling!" I heard the merry laugh over the phone and couldn't help smiling. "I miss you so!"

"I miss you, too, Claudine." And I did. It wasn't the spa treatments or the ability to save my neck that I liked; there was something so irresistibly optimistic about Claudine. "Can I ask what you're doing?"

"I can't tell you," she said, with a distinct pout in her voice. Then she brightened. "But I can still work on your life, no problem with it! Why do you call, Sookie?"

I felt a momentary pang—after all, even though she meant no offence, she was right; I _was_ only calling for something. Then I imagined what, or whom, was at stake, and I straightened my shoulders. "Claudine, I really need to know something and it's going to sound stupid. You wouldn't happen to know anything about Eric getting married…to me?"

"Oh, dear," was all she said, a bit nervously. "Where on earth did you hear that, cousin?" Her voice was just a touch too innocent, however; my gut knew it as much as my mind did. _Eric had manipulated me. _Before I knew it, I was handing the phone back to Claude and starting to hurry back to my room. Never mind that _he_ was there; he was asleep and couldn't interfere with my need to just curl up in a ball and sob.

There were no words to be said. Did it matter that we'd loved each other last night, the euphoric look on his face when I told him those words? Did anything really matter, was anything really real, when the man who claimed to love me had bound me to him in some bizarre fraud?

In a surge of anger, I stormed from the sitting area into what had been our bedroom. He was still sprawled there, so beautiful and relaxed that I wanted to tear my hair, his hair, and scream at him. If I screamed in my sleep, would he hear it, I wondered, stomach clenching with nausea. I sunk down next to him on the bed, my hands twisting weakly in the sheets.

"Why did you lie to me?"

He didn't answer, of course. I was left to stare at him, to remember how he'd smiled at me across the pillows, and to want to cry further.

"You said you love me—is that all bullshit, too?" I whispered to the room at large.

A hand touched my own and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Eric's eyes were fluttering open; they were sleep-heavy and not fully alert. One of his little moments of "up time," I realized. "You are hurting?" His eyes seemed to sharpen. "What has made you cry?"

"Not now," I muttered. Was it fair to confront someone when you knew he was going to be forced into a sleep in a matter of minutes? I couldn't tell him it was all over and leave, just when he was going to lose consciousness again.

He gave a small grunt, and tugged me down to his side. Before I could say anything, I was trapped in his arms, clutched to his chest like a precious object. The ball in my throat made me blink rapidly, failing to contain the hot tears that bubbled up. _How could he? _

For hours, I stared at the suite around us and tried to find some sanity, some explanation, as I waited for Eric to rise. But no answers occurred to me: Eric had married us without my agreement, and for no other reason but to stake claim on me, apparently. Just another shiny toy in his cupboard, that's all.

"What is it?" I jerked alert to the sound of his voice at my ear. It was still sleep-graveled, but I could sense a sliver more energy than before. "What is the problem, my Sookie?" His lips brushed my ear, the slight hair at his jaw rubbing my skin deliberately.

I would not take his _caring_. I jerked out of his arms, out of bed, in a sudden motion that managed to surprise even him. "You are my problem," I blurted out.

"What?" For once, Eric was truly startled. "What is it, Sookie?"

"Does a ring come to mind?" I spat. "Or would that be a ball and chain?"

He didn't even look ashamed. His eyes narrowed, but otherwise, his face was entirely serene.

I hated him.

"Lover, you misunderstand—"

"I'm not your lover! Not after this! Not after you decide you can just play God with my life, _yet again_—do you have any respect for me? No, wait, you just respect my body when you need a good time." I was good and sobbing now, tears splashing freely down my cheeks.

Eric threw aside the blanket and rose to his full height. "And what gave you that idea?" His voice was calm, but his rapidly darkening face was not. "And why do you believe some fuck over me?"

I wasn't in a mood to be fair. "I'm not talking to you when you're naked. You just can't manipulate me again, Eric. You get dressed and I'm waiting in the other room." I stormed out, tears still falling freely. Behind me, I heard Eric's furious curse. Did I want to face that? I shivered suddenly and without thinking, started to move. I grabbed the door handle, hearing Eric's exclamation in the next room, as he heard me—but I was too fast, slipping into the hallway and beginning to run. My tears now blinded me, but I didn't care—I just cared about running away from the crashing door, the loud feet I heard slamming into the carpet after me, the angry shout of my name—no, no, he couldn't touch me, he couldn't hurt me again—I dashed tears from my eyes one last time--

And a strange hand closed on my forearm, jerking me roughly into a room, and slamming the door behind us.

AN: Thanks as always for your input!


	75. Chapter 75

I wasn't in a mood to be fair. "I'm not talking to you when you're naked. You just can't manipulate me again, Eric. You get dressed and I'm waiting in the other room." I stormed out, tears still falling freely. Behind me, I heard Eric's furious curse. Did I want to face that? I shivered suddenly and without thinking, started to move. I grabbed the doorhandle, hearing Eric's exclamation in the next room, as he heard me—but I was too fast, slipping into the hallway and beginning to run. My tears now blinded me, but I didn't care—I just cared about running away from the loud feet I heard slamming into the carpet after me, the angry shout of my name—no, no, he couldn't touch me, he couldn't hurt me again—I dashed tears from my eyes one last time--

And a strange hand closed on my forearm, jerking me roughly into a room, and slamming the door behind us.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" If the cold nails pressing into my arm weren't hint enough, Pam's porcelain face appeared before mine. Her eyebrows snapped up as the door suddenly shook as if something had just slammed into it.

"PAMELA!"

Pam's eyes widened. "You are fleeing my master?"

"Don't let him in here! I don't want to talk to him!" I don't know why I grabbed at Pam's arms, but I did. I just knew I couldn't face him, face the mixture of anger and hurt I felt rolling off of him—heck, heard coming off of him in just the tone of his voice.

Something shifted in Pam's face; she straightened, pointed at a chair, and then strode to the door. She did open it but had her hand up before Eric could come through—I turned away so I wouldn't see him, gulping back tears as I heard him exchange heated words with Pam. They were talking too fast for me to understand, but the tenor of his voice was clear.

Pam must've won the exchange, because she returned to the room just as I heard an extremely loud slam in the distance.

"He has gone to your room for now," she said, eyeing me as if I were an animal about to flee. "You are fortunate that he understood he needed to calm down." Her fangs were down, I noticed, as she sat down stiffly across from me. "And now you will tell me what has fucked up things this time."

I cast a longing look at the door, but there was no way I'd outrun Pam. Especially since she grinned just to show me her fangs as she caught me looking at the door.

"Try it."

"No, thanks."

"Then talk. Why are you being so—"—her lip curled, as she floundered for the word. "Human?"

"Me? I'm the problem?" I glared back at her. "_Your master_ apparently thought it was peachy-keen to marry me without telling me so, and he never bothered to tell me after the fact, not even when he supposedly said he lo—when he supposedly cared for me." I grabbed the hotel's complimentary Kleenex box and wiped my face, aware of Pam's displeasure with "leaking."

I expected Pam to either take my side (she was, after all, way too interested in my personal life) or to not care at all. What I got in response threw me. "You are a silly fool, aren't you?"

I blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Beg his." She sneered out right. "What stupidity is this, woman, that you doubt my master? You do not know him yet?"

"I thought I did—but I thought I knew _others_, too, and that didn't work out so well—"

"Fuck that one. When has my master done badly by you?" Pam's fangs were down now, and not because she was happy.

I'm a lot of things, but no coward. "Maybe when he forced me into a marriage without my consent!"

Her eyes rolled. "You are such a mule, Sookie. If he truly married you, do you think he would want you to know?"

"I have no idea what he was thinking—"

"You would know if you had stayed to ask him." Pam shoved me, not-too-lightly, back in my chair. "So I will tell you.

"This 'marriage' was merely an old custom of ours. It marked you with a higher form of protection. In our tradition, the marriage can be announced either through a display of the knife used, or through our ancient registry. Eric had it registered in our books, so anyone who followed Eric—anyone of importance—would have heard of this. And no vampire could ever dare touch you without bringing down all of Area 5 and any vampire who has associated with my master in the past. You are nearly untouchable; only a suicidal vampire would dare touch you now."

"Excuse me if I'm not impressed—Eric _planned_ this as some kind of protection scheme?"

She snorted as she saw me fold my arms. "Don't be foolish. You know yourself he had limited options. Andre wanted you badly, and this put you beyond Andre's reach for all time. Or for that matter, the Queen's, if she wished to make you live as your cousin had." I winced, but Pam didn't react. "And even though they are gone now, there are others who would seek you, either as leverage on my master or for your skills, and now they cannot have you."

"But this is a _marriage _we're talking about—do you even have divorce?" I doubted 'till death to you part' was in any vampire vow.

"Of course not. We are loyal." Pam set her chin proudly. I could see her point; her fidelity to Eric had definitely outlasted any mortal marriage.

"So you're saying that's it, I've got no choices, I'm married for life?" I tried not to feel the twist of panic in my stomach. It is one thing to whisper sweet statements in the night, another thing to realize your life is now another's.

Pam shrugged. "By vampire law, you are his mate. You should feel privileged; many would covet this position." I must not have looked impressed enough, for she shot me a glare and snapped, "And it doesn't affect at all how you live. My master chose not to tell you of this bond because he wished you to lead your life as you wished, even if that meant other males." Sourly, she added, "And as our ways are not acknowledged by your courts, by mortal law, you would be free to marry elsewhere." She almost spat the words, challenging me.

"This is insane. I hate this crap." "Vampire bullshit" was more like it, but I didn't mean to offend Pam. I rubbed my face and fought the urge to cry again. I just wanted to put down my head and bawl, but the only shoulder I wanted to bawl on was Eric's.

"Quit that. You are a woman, not a sniveler." Pam's voice was more uncomfortable than unkind. "And you know my master loves you, and you love him, so why do you test him with this bullshit? Go back and tell him you wish to be married in truth."

My head jerked out of my hands. "What the hell? I don't think so!"

"I do." She smiled brightly at me. "You will make my master a very happy vampire. And I am ready to plan your events. I know now how to arrange that silly shower you explained."

I opened my mouth to object when someone knocked on the door. "Baby?" Jason's voice called through. "You there?"

_Baby? _When did Jason call me "baby"? I opened my mouth to yell back, but then I saw Pam looking exasperated.

"I will be there shortly, Stackhouse. Meet me in the club."

"Sure thing, beautiful. See you there."

"What was _that_?"

She shrugged and waved her hand dismissively. "Nothing of concern. Now, will you go back to my master and please him again? Or must I be tempted to slap you, and risk his anger?"

"Gee, thanks, Pam." I rubbed my arms, hugging myself. She was looking at me expectantly, so I did the smart thing—I stalled. "Ummm..I never got to say thanks for the necklace, Pam. It's really beautiful and you really didn't have to do that for me." How do you say, politely, "this had to be expensive"? Granted, I could conceivably pay for it myself in this lifetime (which made me feel less trashy for accepting it as a present), but it was still a very nice piece of jewelry.

Pam just snorted. "Of course I did. You please my master and it pleases me. Normally." She looked at me pointedly. "Besides, he wanted to see it on you."

"He—?" The pendant fell out of my fingers and hit my neck with a light slap. "Pam, did he buy this?" I didn't mean to sound so accusatory, but I couldn't help myself. He'd said he didn't! He said it was from Pam!

Pam gave me a sharp look, no doubt reproving me on my tone. "Don't be a fool. I purchased it on the Fangtasia card." In a well-practiced move, she pulled it out of some pocket and waved it in her hand, so I could see the personalized background—shoes, I saw. For a brief, semi-hysterical moment, I wondered if Eric's had those Capital One Vikings on it. "Now, I will tell you this, but we will have words if you trouble my master with this." From the curl of her lip and the tip of white beneath it, I doubted she just meant a discussion. "My master was considering buying you a present."

"But it's not my birthday and he hasn't broken anything--why would he do that?"

Pam's eye roll was brutal. Even more so was the fact she simply skipped my question. "He does not normally seek my assistance on these matters. But he wished to give you something more, hmmm." She tapped the patent-leather-gleam of her lips. "He appreciates that you are not frivolous. But he wished, for once, to give you something frivolous." She leaned in. "It was this or a new vacuum, and I said over my dead body would he get you one." I opted not to point out Pam's body was already, technically speaking, dead. "So he sought my advice and we selected this. I happened to have excellent timing for dropping it off." She winked pointedly at me and I don't think I could've blushed harder if Pam had actually dropped it off in the bedroom while we were still making love.

"So…it is from him." I fingered the pendant again, remembering last night. _He'd said he didn't buy it; so he was being honest, even though, typical Eric, he was also being a bastard about it too. _I thought of the gleam in his eyes when I put it on and sighed.

"Yes. And from me, if you must be a silly bitch about it." Pam shot me a look. "You will not be, will you? You have already been enough of a pain in the ass tonight."

She smirked as I gave her my own eye roll back. "I guess not." Pam's fangs were out, I noticed, and she was rising from her chair—

--the door was opening. Of course. I swallowed, not needing to look over to know him. I could feel him, feel not just that contentment he brought with him like a blanket for my heart, but the stare he'd fixed on me, the look that had always made me so nervous.

Vampires are predators.

Pam seemed to have disappeared, I noticed, glancing around. _Traitor_, my mind helpfully supplied. I knew, too, that there was no way I'd be able to run from this room. And tiredly, I realized, there was no way I wanted to do so, either.

"Sookie." His voice vibrated strangely.

I refused to look at him. Sure, I understood better what he'd done, and why, but how do you look at the person who has the power to shatter you into a million pieces?

Through my eyelashes, I saw him grab a chair and scoot it up to me, our knees almost touching. His voice, taunt, reached my ears. "Sookie. Lover, look at me." His thumbs just brushed the sides of my arms and I jerked back.

"No touching."

It didn't take vampire senses to hear his sigh. "We have little time. I will explain all later, and you will understand me. You are free, and that is all you need for now."

All I need. I swallowed roughly. "Why do we always have little time? Why can't you just explain?" I stared at my hands, which were suddenly covered by his big ones. Against my will, I found my fingers, ten traitors, smoothing over his palms.

"There is a formal gathering tonight for the king. Victor will be there, and it would…unsettle him, to see us there."

"You want to screw with his mind, you mean." I was distant; I couldn't help but be. If I wasn't, I'd be clutching Eric's big shoulders and asking him to carry us back to our room and to keep the world away for days on end.

"That, too." Even trying studiously to avoid his eyes, I sensed his flashing smile.

He sighed again. "You are angry with me. I know this. You will understand in time, lover. I promise this." I didn't look at him; he hissed under his breath. "Sookie. Sookie, look at me, damn it!"

Upset, trying to hold in the hot tears that threatened to spill, I kept my attention off him. Nervously, I reached up to adjust my necklace; my motion must've attracted his attention, as I felt one of his fingers loop under the long chain. Automatically, I looked up, and found my eyes locked with his.

He wasn't feeling so humorous now. He was staring at me as a shipwreck victim sees a boat, with no mask on that beautiful face. Before I could move, his hand was behind my neck, pulling me to him, and I wasn't resisting. Our mouths crashed together like waves, his lips turning the key to mine, sending little pulses to my whole body, including my finger-tips, which found themselves in his hair.

In a minute, he pulled away, leaving me breathless, face wet with tears. "Do you trust me?" He was staring at me so intensely, as if everything hinged on this.

My fingers tightened on his arms unconsciously. Even though my pulse pumped away, even though my feet itched to run, I knew, looking into those eyes, my answer didn't differ from that night when he walked into that awful orgy with me. "Yes," I whispered.

He pulled me towards him, our noses nearly touching. "Then trust I will run to the gates of hell before you run from me again."

AN: Thought I'd give you a little more, since I left you with that big cliffhanger in the last chapter! Thanks as always for your thoughts!


	76. Chapter 76

In a minute, he pulled away, leaving me breathless, face wet with tears. "Do you trust me?" He was staring at me so intensely, as if everything hinged on this.

My fingers tightened on his arms unconsciously. Even though my pulse pumped away, even though my feet itched to run, I knew, looking into those eyes, my answer didn't differ from that night when he walked into that awful orgy with me. "Yes," I whispered.

He pulled me towards him, our noses nearly touching. "Then trust I will run to the gates of hell before you run from me again."

I shivered and felt his hands curve against my sides. His eyes, always so blue, were relentless; I could barely blink, let alone look away. It made me think of last night, and so many nights, when those eyes had told me things I knew already. If I were wrong—if he betrayed me—I felt a pain so sharp that I had to fight back a surge of tears. Everything in me wanted to wind my limbs around him, to never let go, to slide hands up into his hair and pull him against me, as I found myself doing now.

"Eric," I whispered between rough little gasps.

"Yes," he said, in a voice never so hoarse.

"You promise this is just for show? There was no—no second reason?"

He pulled back and took my chin in his fingers. "I wanted you." Despite his serious eyes, his mouth quirked upwards, as if of its own accord. "I always do." Before I could protest, his lips were brushing mine, soft as silk. Now, through the veil of his eyelashes, I could see his eyes, just as soft, holding mine. "But you are free, lover," he pulled back, almost regretfully. "And I will explain all later."

His hands were now clasped in mine, and I looked at them momentarily, not wanting to see our fingers part. I was taking a huge gamble, one I'd never thought to take since that horrible night in New Orleans. I'd suffered physical pain, but the only comparison to that night was losing Gran—because ultimately, I had lost someone. Two, really—Bill and me.

I shook my head a little to brush away the tears and looked at the expectant vampire in front of me. Was I ready to gamble on Eric and myself? I felt his hands tighten around mine as I took in a deep breath. "Then I—I apologize, Eric." He made a startled noise and I flashed a warning look at him. "Don't get cocky. I am not happy about not being told about this. Even if it doesn't mean anything, as you say." Actually, that thought kind of hurt. Even though I never thought of myself getting married, what with my disability and all, you never imagined getting married and it being so inconsequential (a Word of the Day) that nobody'd bothered to tell you.

And, of course, nobody had bothered to ask you. Can't say I've been asked to get married a lot. Well, maybe if you counted Calvin, but that was just…wrong.

I sighed. At least I could've had the moment of horrifying Mrs. Fortenberry with a married name, I chuckled darkly to myself.

"Then, lover, enough of this. Let us go to this party tonight and let Victor see that we are in good form." He wiggled his eyebrows in that way that always made me giggle despite myself. I knew just what Eric meant by "good form," since in squeezing my side, he'd taken the opportunity to feel up the side of my breast.

Any protests I had about outfits were rapidly shoved aside—literally. Pam, either through vamp hearing or some internal fashion radar, was in the room and pushing a very reluctant Eric out. "I will handle this. Left to your own devices, you will wear one of those shawls they sell on television."

"It's not a shawl, it's a dress that wraps in different ways! You can make so many different dresses out of it—" I shut up as Pam gave me a deathly look. And by "deathly," I am not referring to her vampiric nature.

"You have made my master unhappy once. Now it is time to please him." Pam's fangs were down, I noticed. "This will give him much pleasure."

I took a look at the scrap of fabric in her hand and groaned. I was doomed.

_AN: My apologies for such an extremely short chapter. It has been a long time and I wanted to do an update just to let you know that yes, I am working on "Tasting Sin"; I have just been swamped by a variety of factors and that has slowed my progress. Work on the next chapter is underway!_


	77. Chapter 77

"You have made my master unhappy once. Now it is time to please him." Pam's fangs were down, I noticed. "This will give him much pleasure."

I took a look at the fabric in her hand and groaned. I was doomed.

"Do you guys have some special store just for outfits that horrify me?" I asked.

Pam snorted. "If by that, you mean stores with taste, perhaps. Now change!"

Fortunately, I didn't have to fight Pam to get her to turn her back when I changed. And I had to give her credit, the dress wasn't quite as awful as I'd thought. (It would have been if Eric had picked it out, I consoled myself.) It was navy, not black—a twist on the usual vampire wear, I gathered. The top was sheer and skin-tight, with strategic insets of a beautiful navy lace—pretty enough for me to forget the majority of my upper body would be bared to the world. At least, I reminded myself, the lace part across the chest covered more than my bikini did. The top thankfully also had a built-in bra, since there's no way you could wear one with this dress; it was open to the top of my rear in the back. I frowned and did an experimental hop. Pam must have heard me twisting and checking to see that the built-in bra actually would work as a bra (as opposed to one of those cheap excuses out there, made for women without anything significant up top), because she barked, "Double-sided tape is in the bag."

And for that, I blessed Pam.

Once I'd taped (and wanted to duct-tape) myself in, I smoothed down the skirt—narrow, short, navy satin material. At least I could wear some kind of underwear under it, I told myself. I'd already flashed the world once in an evening dress; I wasn't going to put my privates on display if another misadventure occurred. (No matter if it disappointed Eric, as Pam teased me before surrendering the panties she'd bought to go with the dress. That's the nice thing about having a Vampire god—well, not godmother, because Pam would kill me before calling herself that. But whatever she was, she understood the basics of women's wear more than Eric would—Eric, whose answer would generally fall under the category of "the more naked, the better.")

Speaking of the devil, he happened to be lounging in the hallway when we exited Pam's room. I say "lounging" because Eric couldn't just _stand_ like a normal person. Nor would he ever loiter like a regular guy. Nope, he was leaning with one shoulder against the wall, one ankle crossed over another as if he were a model, smoldering away indecently at us.

"How do I look?" he purred, raising his eyebrow just a degree. That helped break the tension within me—the slight fear I was about to jump him right in the hallway. I caught myself rolling my eyes along with Pam, who snorted.

"This is ever your concern with Sookie, Master. Why is that?"

He stiffened and gave her a sharp look. No more Mr. Playful. "Enough, Pamela. Now, lover?" He extended his hand out to me and I took it automatically. A chilly thrill travelled up my arm from where our hands met, though; as I caught his sapphire gaze, I caught myself wondering if that happy sparkle came from him or me.

It didn't matter, I decided. "So are you going to tell me about what we're doing that's so important?" Even if Eric really wasn't a fan of big emotional scenes, I knew he'd never have wanted us to leave Pam's room if it weren't a big deal.

He flashed a smile at me. Uh-oh. I knew that smile. It's the kind of smile you see before someone suggests a "fun" dive into a shark pool. "We will go forth, meet Felipe and his court, and make our presence known. That is all."

I tried to make sense of this. "So this is just to scare Victor, that's all? To say we're here, we're fine, and his plans didn't work? That's why we're all dressed up like this?" I waved my hand at my outfit, which was a mistake, as it gave Eric all the excuse he needed (well, not that he ever needed one) to leer at my chest.

"Oh, no, that's just for me, lover." He smiled fangily.

"I'll take that as a compliment. Can we go?" I was tired already and my head had started to throb. What? You try having an emotional breakdown and not having a headache.

Besides, since I knew perfectly well what happened whenever I got dressed up, I was resigned to the eventual chaos. It'd be nice to get all dressed up and spend one night slow-dancing with my—well, boyfriend, then (I wasn't going to call him "husband"), and doing nothing more than savoring the scent of his cologne. But I knew too well already that vamps never could pull off "date nights" without a hitch.

Oh, hell, who was I kidding? I couldn't even pull off one! I remembered what had happened that night with Quinn, with a flinch.

Eric might've picked up on my mood, but he said nothing as he guided us downstairs. I was more than a little worried about Jason (Lord knows what levels of trouble he could get up, with _this _crowd around), but Pam assured me Bubba had taken him gambling and possibly to a show.

I really hoped it wasn't a Sigfried and Roy-type one. I snickered to myself. _Lions, and tigers, and bears—_

--and ran into a thick wall.

"Oh, my."

"Hello, babe." Quinn's smile went all the way up to his pansy-colored eyes. Which were focused on my boobs, I noticed.

Eric's hand was suddenly around my abdomen, dangerously high up—as if to just point out that he could touch me like that in public. One wiggle and he'd rounding at least one base. "We are delighted." As delighted as a skier facing an avalanche, I'd bet. And just when did I give him the rights to refer to us in public as a "we"? I shot him a look, which he ignored serenely. "Now, my lover, champagne?" He made a signal with a free hand and suddenly a pale-faced waiter was there, apparently of the impression that he was lucky to be asked for champagne, and not his blood.

Good manners, and Gran, would've wanted me to make some kind of small-talk with Quinn. Eric, however, wasn't in the mood, and I can't say I blamed him. He towed me off as I made an apologetic face to Quinn, with barely an excuse for our abrupt exit.

"What's he doing here?" I muttered to Eric, who was looking around. I hoped he wasn't looking for the exits. Nowadays I always scope a room for exits when I first walk in, and while it's a habit I've acquired, it's a bit alarming to see anybody else doing it.

"Perhaps he is visiting family in the nearby zoo." Pam sidled up to us, handing a TrueBlood to Eric. "Let us hope they do not have fleas."

He spoke before I could object to the shot against Quinn. "I would wager his company designed this party." He still was searching the room with his eyes, I noticed, and shifted uncomfortably.

At least Eric's idea seemed likely. Supes definitely hated relying on anybody new. They preferred to go to the same services over and again—which is why if you handled one Supe account well (for anything), the rest of them would show up at your door.

Look at me: I'm walking proof of that.

So it made sense Quinn's company would be handling Felipe's little shindig. I was still startled that Quinn himself would come—did he fly to every party his organization handled? Or was it just, I thought, biting my lip, the ones with the most important vamps? Maybe a bit of networking? I watched Quinn nod to a passing vamp, who inclined his eye an inch in return. For a vamp, that's a downright warm greeting.

"So where's Felipe?" Pam frowned at me. "I mean, the King?" I guessed, like school children, we had to be careful to use his title now that he might hear us.

"He will be here later. Dance with me." Without waiting for my answer, a Viking grabbed me around the waist and I found myself on the dance floor.

Which was nearly empty, as was normal in a Supe setting. (Vamps are not known for getting down, when they're together. Instead, they compete to see who can make the smallest, quietest movements. Human musicians have burst into tears on stage at the lack of responsiveness from vamp audiences.)

I puzzled over Eric's motives. The music wasn't fast and Eric, although he liked to dance, wasn't one to put pleasure in front of politics. I looped my arms around his neck and leaned in. Why make a display of us? I frowned as the idea came to me.

"So, are we avoiding anyone?"

He flashed a smirk down at me. "Perhaps I just wished to dance with you."

"Mmmhmmm." I snuggled against him, I admit it. "And what else?"

His mouth was by my ear and to the rest of the world, I'm sure it looked very romantic. "Stay close by me. Victor will be here soon and I want everyone here to know you are mine." I guessed a dance beat him lifting his leg and marking me, but just barely. I glared at the wall of chest in front of me. He laughed softly, the air tickling my inner ear. "Yes, yes, I know. Let us say under my protection." His fingers toyed with my lower back now, drawing little designs on the skin there. I shivered and I felt his chest rumble again. "Just remember, lover, it is for your safety. And mine."

"Yours?" I couldn't help the spike of worry.

"It will be my head if I have to kill anyone tonight." He twirled me suddenly and brought me snugly up to his chest again. "And I have plans for this head."

I saw the leer in his eyes and side-stepped the joke. "So our plan is--?"

"Wait for the King, then have a polite word with Victor." Eric's teeth snapped off the "word" precise in the friendly fashion of a Doberman pinscher eating a piece of meat.

I wasn't buying any of that, but since Eric had yet to ream me about investigating Victor's dayman without him being around, I figured I should let it go.

One more twirl and I caught sight of movement in the herd of Supes to our left. Eric's hard expression told me the identity of the new-comer before my human eyes could. It was Victor and his entourage. I looked anxiously for Crandle but didn't see him, thank goodness. But I did see—oh, Lord. The familiar figure in jeans and a beer shirt was heading this way, news obviously on his lips. I just prayed he wouldn't shout.

"He will not touch you," Eric said, apparently picking up on my anxiety, but definitely not seeing the source of it.

"I know." I leaned up to peck him on the cheek. "Excuse me a moment, would you?" I bobbed my head in the direction of the restrooms, and although Eric looked put-out, he could hardly stalk me ("for my own safety") to the restroom itself.

I headed in that direction, blended deliberately with a crowd, and then circled around, hoping to beat Jason to Eric. "Sook!" Jason was indeed exultant. And slightly drunk, from the smell of it. "Do you know who the hell came to our hotel tonight?"

"No idea." I motioned for him to hurry it up. Eric would only give me so long before sending in Pam to "check" on me. And by check, I mean loudly ask if my cycle was starting.

"That asshole we saw today!" Well, technically, we were the assholes, I had to admit, but I supported Jason's enthusiasm for Team Stackhouse. "So I thought he must be up to no fuckin' good—'scuse me—and I got him!"

"Got him?" I was suddenly very glad Jason hadn't brought any hunting rifles with us.

"Yeah, me's and that El—"

"—Bubba—"

"Yeah, Bubba, that dude, we got him. Bubba's watching him now in a closet. Says he's real used to that."

I rubbed my temples. "Wow, well, that's great. Can you two just keep an eye on him for a bit?" I had no idea what to do but I figured letting Crandle out now would lead to a very nasty show-down on the floor here.

"Sure, we got that. Send that Pam vamper to see me if she wants a real party, won't you?" And with that, Jason was heading off again, slapping a few confused tuxedo-clad vamps on the back as he left.

Oh, hell. I had a person in a closet, Eric didn't know anything about my daytime adventures, and Lord knows what Eric intended for this showdown tonight with Victor and Felipe. I headed back towards the tall blond figure with a headache in full swing. And naturally, because I wasn't looking where I was going, I ran right into a wineglass filled with something that I really prayed was red wine.

"Oh, hell." I dabbed automatically at the spot with a tissue. The tissue was dry, of course, so I spit discreetly into it and started pressing on my dress.

A pair of familiar hands settled on my waist. "Sookie," Eric said roughly. "I could help you with that."

I saw the look in his eye. And maybe I saw something else, too, as I looked up at him, but I'm not admitting it.

He wasn't too concerned with the dry cleaning, that's for sure.

"I'll pass for now—maybe I should go get some cold water on this." Soda water would do as well, but for some reason, I really didn't want to be out on that floor, surrounded by vamps, with blood (any kind of it) smeared on my dress. I felt a bit like the bloodied bait in a shark tank.

I made my excuses and dashed off again.

The bright ballroom lights were lowering now to a more intimate lighting, and more and more of the Supes were mingling together. The way to the restroom was clear, so I had no problem getting there.

Until the final steps, when I knocked shoulders with a man coming out of the men's room. I looked up and gasped at the hair that still stood out, a bright fiery red, in the dim lights.

Quinn's secretary. The brother of the man who was last seen dead at my house.

_Oh, hell! _

AN: I'm obviously working on getting us back up to full chapters again—promise!

Thank you all for your support and comments. They've meant a lot to me as we continue to power our way towards the conclusion. (And yes, for those who asked, this is not a soap—there is an end game planned. ;)

Last but not least, I want to plug a contest for fans of E/S. Many of the Eric/Sookie fans promote contests regularly, and the current one is "Poppin' Eric's Cherry." (Yes, just that.) Here are the rules and you have till Nov. 30th to post something. This is very much for new writers, so please, take a swing at the ball! It'll be fun. :K

Forum dot fanfiction dot net slash topic slash 55534 slash 19821235 slash 1 slash

(Removing the spaces and inserting the punctuation as noted, of course.)


	78. Chapter 78

_It goes without saying, I hope, that I am very sorry for the long delay in this chapter. It was still a bit difficult getting on the pony again, shall we say, but I hope you enjoy this chapter. Consider it a warm-up for things to come. ;)_

_****_

Last time on _Tasting Sin_….

I've been asked a few times to provide a timeline of the story's plot. While I don't have the time to break down every chapter, let me sum up what we know:

E/S have had sex (lots of it), fought (too often), had trust issues (mostly on her part, silly woman), and now have declared love for one another. (Yay!) Their most recent problem was the revelation that E/S are in fact married, thanks to the blood bonding. (Yes, I'm bringing in a little bit of _DAG_ here.) Eric has promised it changes nothing between them, and Sookie is for the moment accepting that.

In the midst of their emotional turmoil, we of course have had the ongoing hellstorm started with the arson attempt at Fangtasia. It appeared someone was gunning for Pam, Eric, and possibly Sookie—first by trying to burn down Fangtasia, then attempting to burn Pam's house, later an attempted hit on E/S when they were in a car together, and even, God forbid, a bomb on Eric's Corvette. After much detective work (and sex), Team Vamp figured out that:

Much of the low-level crimes had been committed by fairly common thugs like one Jerry Bratt. Jerry appeared to be doing his dirty deeds for money and love, having taken up with a vamp named Evie.

Jerry secured access to vamp events through his brother's job. His brother, Jay, works as Quinn's personal secretary.

It seems likely Evie met Jerry at his work, since Evie herself works for the infamous Victor.

Jerry's dead and, as Sam pointed out to Sookie, she'll probably be blamed for his death, since the body was dumped at her house. Quinn already called the Fangtasia crew to point out his secretary, Jay, was apparently looking at Sookie's home address.

In addition to these findings, Team Fanged & Fabulous also figured out:

"Someone" appeared to be making in-roads into the profits in Area Five. In particular, they're setting up a rival bar, the Red Room;

That "someone" appears to be Victor, who also was implicated in political corruption. He seems to be shaking down politicians for money.

Victor is having major money issues and this, Bill and Eric have told us, is a _huge_ problem in the world of vamp politics. Poor vamps = weak vamps.

And now, where we are—

Eric decided the best defense is an offense, and has taken his team to Vegas with him. He wants to meet Victor face-to-face. He's said before he wants a personal challenge, but Bill and Pam shot that idea down. So what is he to do? Right now, he's telling Sookie they're attending a vamp party just to show Victor they're in town and quite happy, despite his efforts.

Meanwhile, the Stackhouse Relatives had their own side adventure—Sookie, Jason, and Claude all participated in an interrogation of Victor's dayman, Oliver Crandle. For Sookie, Crandle's most significant slip was telling about the blood-bond marriage between Sookie and Eric. But he did say more: Crandle revealed that Victor is extremely jealous of Eric's power and station; Victor thinks the king, Felipe, has made Eric a favorite, even though Victor is the second-in-command. Finally, Crandle let it be known that Victor wants more than just second-in-command powers—he wants to be top dog, period.

Crandle attempted to get to the hotel and inform Victor about his interrogation; he is, however, currently being held prisoner by Bubba and Jason. And because of her emotional meltdown, Sookie has not told Eric about the depth of the interrogation, just that Crandle confirmed the marriage between them.

While Crandle's in a closet, Sookie and Eric are at a party for the Vegas vamps. And that is where our story resumes!

****

The bright ballroom lights were lowering now to a more intimate lighting, and more and more of the Supes were mingling together. The way to the restroom was clear, so I had no problem getting there.

Until the final steps, when I knocked shoulders with a man coming out of the men's room. I looked up and gasped at the hair that still stood out, a bright fiery red, in the dim lights.

Quinn's secretary. The brother of the man who was last seen dead at my house.

_Oh, hell! _

Time slowed. It felt like four months had passed. And then, abruptly, like a rubber band released, I snapped back to the present.

"Oh, hell!" I blurted out. What can I say? The Good Lord blessed me with a lot of things, but perfect restraint isn't one of them.

Jay the secretary jerked back. I could almost see the thoughts forming in his eyes—but I didn't have to go that far, of course. I shuddered inside as he inevitably identified me_—"the Stackhouse woman, feel like I've been looking for her for a month"—_and then his mind moved too fast for me to figure out what he was thinking. I caught emotions instead: anger, fear, anguish, guilt, panic. None of which should have been there if he were just doing his job, brought along as Quinn's secretary. I remembered Sam's words, cautioning that Jerry's murder could be laid at my doorstep (just as his body had been) and swallowed.

Yup, this was going to be one of those nights. I eyeballed Jay, who was sweating profusely; I got ready to step out of my high heels, run like hell, and do whatever necessary to keep my people, dead and not, alive. (And I sent out thanks again for Pam's double-sided tape. If I was going to ruin yet another party dress with the vamps, at least I wouldn't be completely naked.)

"I do hope you know that if you bruised her, there will be hell to pay." Well, if it wasn't my—not my fairy godmother, but my undead advisor, I guess. Undead fashion advisor, definitely. Pam was standing right behind me, giving Jay a look worthy of the _Titanic's_ last minutes. Jay himself managed to go as pale as Pam, which is a feat. I saw his eyes start to flare, as if one last angry thought occurred to him, and moved my own body more in front of Pam. The thing I've noticed is that vamps underestimate their own security around nutcases. Me? I'm used to being torn apart (literally). Whereas if Pam ever got a hangnail, you'd never hear the end of it.

Pam was still not registering Jay as any sort of threat, I saw; a few sharp words from her, and his eyes turned glassy. She paused in her glamouring to smirk at me. "Should I tell him he won't be able to get it up for a month?"

"Pam, I don't think you realize---"

My back quivered (and everything under it as well) as a cool hand brushed low, _very low—well, nice to see you, too_—across it. A big, very familiar, very wonderful hand. I fought the urge to rub back against him. "Trouble, ladies?"

"Just a clumsy fuck bumping Sookie." I blinked and realized Pam had already sent Jay away. I hadn't even noticed his departure, thanks to the very friendly caress I was receiving. "No damage." Pam's full lips pressed together. "Pity, of course."

"Of course." I could hear a smile in Eric's voice as his chin brushed the back of my hair. Only then, as Pam drifted away from us—giving me a very significant arched eyebrow—did I turn back to him.

"It was Quinn's secretary! He's here!"

Eric looked over my head; his eyes slid down to me, a reserved smile on his face. I knew that look from when my poor Tina used to catch mice, the look right before she jumped. "So he is. The tiger brings his fleas." I glared, but he didn't flinch. "I will deal with him, lover. Now come." Before I could object, he was propelling us into the restroom.

I sputtered like a broken faucet. "This is the _women's _room—I know you don't have trouble reading—what on earth—" Granted, vamps don't have much use for restrooms themselves (unless it's a good shower), and Eric knew his way around every nook and cranny of a woman's body, but still.

This was far worse than one of those rude folks who insist on talking on their cell phones in the restroom. I'd had an awful suspicion that Jason had tried that on me once, and you'd better believe I hung right up on him.

"You shouldn't be in here!" I finally managed.

"Which is why I should be here," he purred, stalking up to me and backing me up against the cold porcelain of the sink. "In here." His hands were on my hips and I couldn't help but wonder—

"Oh, no way, Jose!" Maybe some of the stuff we'd done wouldn't pass Gran's list of what ladies Did or Did Not Do, but still. Besides, you never knew what diseases people had. I wondered briefly if someone with that swine flu had been washing her hands right where my butt was parked now.

He laughed, a rich noise that reverberated around the tiled room. "Not now, lover." I felt his lips smile against my neck and shivered spontaneously. Just because the porcelain was so cold, mind. "You cannot be without me, can you?" His voice dropped down to its lowest notes. "You want me with you."

"Fungus," I muttered, rubbing my hands in circles over his big shoulders, and heard him laugh again, before he started to kiss my neck in a way that was very un-funny. So un-funny that I felt the very serious need to reciprocate.

"Lover, don't tempt me," he murmured, pulling back from my lips. "We have other, less pleasant business."

"Oh!" I yelped as cold water hit my chest. I glanced down to realize Eric was daubing at the blood on it, his too-innocent eyes on me.

"Don't tell me you came in here to clean my dress." I was actually pretty impressed he even knew cold water lifted blood stains, but I guess that was a lesson he'd have had to learn early on. "And don't say what you're going to say!" I added hastily.

He smirked, possibly because he was cleaning an area I was pretty sure hadn't seen any blood. I didn't look down to check. "It is my pleasure to assist you in all ways."

"Stop that." I pushed his hand away from my breast and did a double-take. The energy I felt pulsing from him, the dancing light in his eye—

"You're excited about confronting Victor, aren't you? You want a fight?"

His lips curled of their own accord. "I am most anxious to let…certain facts be known." His hand was suddenly on my chin, turning me to look at him. As if I could look at anything, anyone else.

"What?" I whispered breathlessly.

He said nothing for an eternal moment, his long fingers sliding along my cheeks and jaw. His smile was definitely gone now. "I wish you to leave the room if anything seems…amiss." He spoke the last word through gritted teeth, and my stomach clenched at the thought. "One of us will fetch you when it is safe."

"It might not be?" Stupid question, I know; when the vamps clash, Sookies tend to end up staked, spattered, and ripped apart. But still. I kept my eyes on his.

He smiled with his old zest. "Who wants it to be?" He winked and suddenly he was whirling me back out of the room, to the dance floor. I wanted to fight him, to claw at the tuxedo-clad arms that held me so lightly, but he whispered merely, "Trust me," in my ear, and what could I do?

Eric was vibrating next to me like a tuning fork. Even if I couldn't read his mind, I could read his body, and it was screaming now for battle. Involuntarily, I clutched him a little harder. My hands anchored themselves against the hard line of his jaw. "You're not starting something, are you? Tell me. Remember your promise."

He smiled fully. "Of course. I will start nothing, my lover."

What I did know was that we were out on the dance floor, when Eric suddenly spun me to a halt. Across his taunt arm, I saw Victor and a female vamp chatting away. Victor inclined his head to us.

"Northman. And my dear, dear Ms. Stackhouse. You are a rare beauty tonight." I hoped he didn't mean rare like a steak.

"Tonight and all nights." Eric slid himself slightly in front of us. "She is my woman." I was tempted to roll my eyes, I admit, but I was a little more concerned about the surging testosterone I felt flying back and forth between the men.

"Of course." Victor just nodded, smiling his same oily way.

Eric smiled fangily. "Of course." He nodded again to Victor and swung me exuberantly back into the dance. The music roared into my ears, as energy poured into me. His energy, I saw, from the gleam in his eyes.

"What the heck was that?" I hissed, when I had a second to breathe.

"You will see. I have a very subtle plan." He smirked at me, then swung me around again. Dancing with Eric is really like flying, because it's so easy for him to lift you and move you. I laughed, then the sound caught in my throat as he set me off spinning like a top—slamming right into another person.

Victor. His eyes flashed at me as he stumbled back, dropping his drink in the process. "Bitch," he hissed, and I saw, in a blink, just why he was so angry: there was the dayman, Crandle, right beside him. "You dare to threaten me?"

"I—"

"—will enjoy this." And I saw a great whir next to me, as a fist flew across my shoulder and slammed into Victor's face. So much for subtlety--with an exuberant war cry, Eric dove past me, taking down Victor.

I'd have screamed—heck, maybe I _was_ screaming—but I was too shocked to move right away. Here's the thing I've noticed in my time at Fangtasia: Vamps just don't do bar brawls. They don't. It doesn't fit into their Dracula mystique (and they all want to keep to that, no matter if Eric gets offended every time I ask him why all vamps play-act at funny accents for the tourists). Plus, they're too hard to injure in a regular fight, like the living do, so logically, dishing out knuckle sandwiches isn't their kind of thing. The vamp's the sort that will poison an enemy, hurl a stake, will sneak up and try to tear a head off—but what Jason would call a "healthy ass whoopin' " isn't in their normal physical vocabulary.

Their normal vocabulary. Obviously, I saw from the way Eric was driving his now-reddened fist into Victor, he'd been hanging around Merlotte's a little too long.

"Stop him!" Someone finally said, although I wasn't sure which "him" was meant. I wasn't going to find out, I realized, as I was roughly shouldered to the side by someone—was that Quinn moving past me?--

"Bitch!" I heard Crandle again, but this time not in my mind. I swung my head to see a white hand slam down, and Crandle went flying. In a blink, I registered the figure spinning smashed plateware in her hands like ninja throwing stars. "Pam?"

"Try not to bleed too much, Sookie," she said calmly, while dancing around a charging vamp. "You know it bothers him."

"Sure thing," I mumbled, trying to get to the sidelines, if only to see where Eric was. My heart throbbed painfully as I saw the smears of red on his face, on the gaps of skin exposed in his now-ripped shirt. Both Eric and Victor had fangs down and were snapping, snarling into each other like two starving jungle cats dropped into the same pen. Worry swept me; Eric was bigger, but I didn't trust Victor—and then again, we _were_ on his turf—I saw Victor back-hand Quinn, who apparently was trying to intervene, and my former beau went flying, just before Eric lunged for Victor again.

I couldn't stand still and watch. I dug my fingernails into my palms and rapidly surveyed the room. There was too much activity in the room, too much blood already spilled, and I looked around frantically for some way to help.

The closest thing I saw was the fire extinguisher—_wait! _In a second, I dashed across the room. Maybe a fire extinguisher wouldn't hurt a vamp, but an axe might set one back a little. "Open up, damn it!" The glass case stuck, cheerfully advising me to "smash here," as if I had a vampire's strength. And naturally, the little attached hammer did nothing.

"Here goes nothing." I sent up a prayer that Pam didn't see this, leaned down, yanked off a shoe, and used it to bash in the glass.

"Crap!" My hand was bleeding—of course, it _had _to bleed in a shark tank of angry vamps—but I'd also broken the heel. One more item to add to my list of damages, an unhinged part of my mind reminded me. I stared down at the exposed splinters where the heel had broken, opening up its unpainted wooden core. That would be an expensive repair…

"It's your lucky day," a voice purred. I froze, but not from the voice—more from the bloodless hands that had clamped down on me. "Release Mr. Madden, or I'll kill your woman, Northman!" His contractions gave him away; he was clearly a newbie to the world of vamps.

"And I'll cut your fucking dick off." The voice across the room was distinct. I smiled against all reason. That Pam.

My captor's hands tightened on me. He was too new at being a vamp, I realized, because his grip hurt me; older vamps knew how to tailor their grips to humans.

Plus, he used contractions.

"I don't think so," he shot back at Pam. "I'll have her head off before you could move."

"But not before me." My captor and I both jumped, because a blood-soaked Eric was suddenly next to us, and my captor's hands fell away with a scream as something silver jutted out from his side. I stumbled back behind Eric as he yanked the sword away, Newbie's body tumbling to the side.

"Bubba," he said curtly, and I noticed a blood-spattered figure in a glittery one-piece bodysuit.

"I sure do like this!" Bubba yelled across at me. "Howdy, Miss Sookie!" He waved enthusiastically, and by waving, I mean he waved around the body of a resistant vamp before smashing the hapless person into the nearby wall.

"Good to have friends," I managed shakily. I looked back at Eric; he was vibrating with tension, but too white, too obviously injured. He shook his head rapidly as I indicated my injured hand, still on defense.

"Not enough of them. Be ready to die, Northman." I blinked, and there was Victor abruptly next to us, clutching a stake, just as Eric was turning, lifting his sword. But Victor was a half-beat ahead, so I did what I had to do.

I thrust out my broken heel.


	79. Chapter 79

"I sure do like this!" Bubba yelled across at me. "Howdy, Miss Sookie!" He waved enthusiastically, and by waving, I mean he waved around the body of a resistant vamp before smashing the hapless person into the nearby wall.

"Good to have friends," I managed shakily. I looked back at Eric; he was vibrating with tension, but too white, too obviously injured. He shook his head rapidly as I indicated my injured hand, still on defense.

"Not enough of them. Be ready to die, Northman." I blinked, and there was Victor abruptly next to us, clutching a stake, just as Eric was turning, lifting his sword. But Victor was a half-beat ahead, so I did what I had to do.

I thrust out my broken heel.

Sometimes time stretches—in a second, it seems like months have gone by, and the Great Lord Above has been occupied with other things and just keepin' you on hold. And then, suddenly, time snaps forwards again, just like Somebody finally got the time to pay some attention to your world.

That's how it felt to me, in that split second when my heel swung out towards Victor's chest. First, for terrifying ages, I was praying inside to somehow make this save Eric—and then, suddenly, time just jumped forward.

In this case, it jumped forward with a body flying. See, first my heel pinned Victor's chest, but apparently it wasn't deep enough to get the job done—Victor just looked down at it in distaste, and I couldn't help a blurted, "Gross," at the blood spurting out, a bit like Gran's tiny garden fountain. Then, in a blink, a very human body passed by me, howling, "NOBODY CALLS MY SISTER A DIRTY WORD, FUCKER!" And with that, Jason pummeled over Victor, apparently going by the bar-fight rule that victory is determined by whoever ends up on top.

I was shrieking inanely, but the crowd around me wasn't as frozen. "Men," Pam snorted, plucking Jason away by the scruff of his neck. "Eric?"

Eric's shoe kicked Victor, still bleeding, back to the ground. His eyes glowed, and not in the sparkly vamp kind of way. "To hell, fucker," he hissed, and suddenly, almost like a golf stroke, the sword was swinging down—and then—

Well, that was a bit more like the fountain in front of the Bon Temps library than Gran's little fountain, I've got to say.

"Sure doesn't beat some good kitty," mumbled Bubba forlornly, next to me.

"You can say that again." I automatically elbowed Pam; she was like granite, of course, but she almost smiled at my efforts.

In front of us, Eric straightened up, his tuxedo shredded and stained. His hair swung in front of his face in thick, bloodied strands. The mob of Supes around us automatically stilled. "Does anyone challenge my kill?"

Even among vamps, the silence was chilling. Maybe they were still trying to figure out what had happened—or how much it was going to cost to clean the place up—but either way, they sure weren't volunteering to take on my Viking.

"You don't fuck with Area Five," piped up Pam helpfully.

I started to move towards Eric, but Jason and Pam both kept a grip on me. Eric was reeling off orders—to Quinn, to Bubba, to a few other vamps I saw. Some were apparently scooping up what remained of Victor; did vamps have funerals, I wondered? Or maybe it was just to prove to the king that Victor had met his final death?

The idea of human funerals had me scouring the room—what had happened to Crandle, or Jay? "Pam, what happened to the guy you knocked out earlier?" She grinned so happily that I added, "The first one," just to forestall the list of her victories.

"He should be still down there." She waved generally toward the side, disinterested; she was more taken by the crowd of silent vamps watching Eric clean his sword on the remains of Victor's clothing.

"Jason, that's the guy we—"

"Dang, I guess he got out of the closet." Jason looked momentarily shame-faced, but shrugged and trotted off.

If he were after a Supe, I'd have been more worried, but Jason was strong enough to handle a human.

Something I wish I could say of myself, sometimes. Before I could object, a set of perfectly manicured hands gave me a shove, and Eric's hand—I'd know it anywhere—clamped around my forearm, both steadying me and drawing me before him. "This is my woman. Who disputes my claim?" Uh-oh. I glanced up at his face and shuddered, not for the gore speared over his jaw, but for the look inside. Starving lions have looked friendlier.

"Who claims what is mine?" Apparently, Eric wasn't done yet. And the vamps knew it; they stayed quiet, as if afraid to move.

I didn't blame them.

"Then let it be fucking known, I will defend what is mine." Eric's big hand left my forearm and came around my waist, while with the other he handed off his sword to someone I couldn't see.

"Here, here," Pam drawled. This seemed to be the stone to break the pond's stillness—just like that, sound picked up again, and the spectators drew back as if caught observing an intimate fight.

"Oh, hell, Eric, look at you," I whispered, touching gingerly at his jaw. Granted, all of the vamps could probably hear me, but I didn't want to make a deal of my lack of subordinance. (Which, Gran had told me on the day that word first came up on my calendar, I definitely didn't "do" so well.)

"I'm well," he said shortly, but I could feel the energy leaping beneath his skin. He wasn't angry with me, just brimming with a post-fight rush. I frowned. Normally, he'd be all over me by this point (and from what I could feel behind me, he definitely _wanted_ to be), but he just stood there, still holding me, while eyeballing every vamp who dared look our way.

"So am I, thanks for asking."

His fingers pressed into my side and he still had that air of a Greyhound straining its leash. "We have company."

At first I thought it was Jason—stumbling before us and dragging with him Crandle. I thought I'd seen trouble (well, especially after staining yet another Pam dress choice), but his face told another story.

"Please forgive me," he was sobbing, bawling.

"He won't shut up." Jason shifted uncomfortably behind Crandle, who had dropped to his knees.

"Please forgive me, Master, Sire," he gushed onwards. He was reaching out towards Eric—well, towards me, since I was standing just in front of Eric—as if in appeal. I had a feeling that kind of appeal went over with Eric just about as well as a guppy offering fealty to a shark.

"Pam. Secure this one. He may be…useful…later." I could almost feel the roll of her eyes as she stomped away, dragging Crandle none-too-gently after her. I wanted to ask if useful meant "alive" in the vamp vocabulary, but yet another person was before us.

"Perimeter's secure, Northman. Are you okay, babe?" I cringed back against Eric, partly because of the "babe" and partly because of the audible growl behind me.

"I'm fine—"

"Oh, got to go, babe—client's here. Later!" And with that, Quinn sped off, Bluetooth already at his ear and Blackberry clicking frantically in his hand.

"Fuck," hissed Eric.

"Oh, come on, is he really worth _that_ much hate?" I started to twist around to look at Eric again, but his fingers stopped me.

"Not him. Look—he's here."

I shot a glance over my shoulder and froze.

The King of Vegas had arrived, and he surely wasn't Bubba.

And from the looks of his face, he wasn't too pleased.

_AN: I have, as you have noticed, been extremely slow in updating lately. I will, however, make it a priority to get out the next piece by the next TB episode, if not before. I promise I haven't given up on "TS"—life's just been very busy, so I had a hard time writing. But I thank you all for your support and for staying with me on this ride! _


	80. Chapter 80

"Fuck," hissed Eric.

"Oh, come on, is he really worth _that_ much hate?" I started to twist around to look at Eric again, but his fingers stopped me.

"Not him. Look—he's here."

I shot a glance over my shoulder and froze.

The King of Vegas had arrived, and he surely wasn't Bubba.

And from the looks of his face, he wasn't too pleased.

"Oh, shoot," I muttered. I heard Eric make a sound that might have been a snort, if we weren't both already too worried for levity. (My Word of the Day, according to the little thingy Eric had installed on my cell phone.)

"Let us hope not," he murmured, and then squared his shoulders to greet the king.

"Majesty." A part of me cringed as Eric made a deep bow before Felipe. Actually, I noticed, a pulse of panic making its way into my blood stream, he wasn't just bowing; he'd gone to his knees. Although Eric's a big man, the site of him on his knees was not a good one. It just reminded me of how vulnerable that beautiful blond head was to another sword, wielded by another swordsman.

"Your Highness," I blurted out, and both Felipe and Eric's faces turned to me. I saw and felt the flash of irritation from Eric's side, almost as if he were holding up a "Let Me Do This" sign. Well, he'd just done it already, as far as I was concerned, and I wasn't trained to stand by my man while he was getting himself killed.

And don't you look at me and remind me of Our Glorious Dead—I was born in this century, mind you.

"Sir," I fumbled, stepping carefully across bodies and blood slicks on the floor. "I mean, um, sire." That came out hard for me, but given the stakes (no pun intended), I didn't want to err on the side of pride. "I'm sure you don't remember me, being such a busy, important man—"

"Of course I do." Felipe's face warmed just a hair, as any gentleman's would when a lady is doing her damnedest to lay it on thick. But his eyes were still closed to me, still tense.

I sidled up to Eric, partly by choice and partly because his hand caught my wrist as soon as I came within grabbing distance. A slight tug and I was doing my best imitation of a curtsey.

Felipe overlooked my etiquette lesson. "So tell me, my dear Sheriff, what brings bloodshed to my city and before my presence?"

Eric, still on his knees, stared Felipe right in the eye. "He assaulted my wife."

Felipe's eyebrows went right up into his hairline and I'm pretty sure I could feel the quake of joy coming from Pam somewhere else in the room.

"Very bad manners, I am sure." Felipe still didn't look as sympathetic as I'd like, but then again, he didn't know just how bad things were. "So you have taken one of my own, Northman, because of your personal vendetta."

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, you would lose one of us. He meant to bring final death to me and mine."

"And you have proof? Beyond destroying a ballroom?" Felipe's face was about as welcoming as a wall of rock. "I was warned you are self-indulgent and now you have come to my very capital, bringing your ego and headstrong ways with you." He shook his head. "You have ended my second in command, who was worth very much to me, Northman. I cannot overlook this."

"Sir, please!"

Eric said nothing, but his fingers squeezed mine; I found it hard to breathe.

Something blonde caught my attention. _Please let it be Claude or Claudine, willing to do some fairy mojo to save Eric_. _Please, please, please, God_. Too late, I swallowed back tears, remembering they couldn't come into this nest of vamps, for fear of being torn apart themselves. I turned my eye slightly and saw, through the mist of my tears, Pam on her knees next to me. "Your Majesty, if I might—"

Pam might have said more. I'm not sure what she said, to be honest. All I know is I heard a slight gasp from Felipe, as if he'd been struck by something, and witnessed his face transform into something downright hungry. And not in a blood way, either. Pam, meanwhile, was still pleading our case—again, I _think_ she was, but I was so startled by Felipe's reaction that I barely heard a word she was saying.

Eric yanked me back as I nearly took a step forward to interrupt the staring session going on between Felipe and Pam.

"—the fuck destroyed my gardens, and my pumps were _filthy_—LaBoutins, of course—and don't even start on what happened to my van—I had to get a _rental—_and now I have that fuck's blood all over my dress, and _that one"—_she pointed at me—"—has gone and wrecked _another_ outfit I chose for her—"

"No lady has ever suffered so," Felipe breathed. "You are the one who killed all of my men in Shreveport, when I took over?"

Pam paused, shrugged. "Pity I didn't get more of them."

You'd think that would put a damper on Felipe's now-glowing eyes, but no. "I have never beheld such a woman. Fair lady, please stand in my presence." Pam accepted his hand nonchalantly.

"If you insist."

"Would you prefer to sit? Somewhere private, perhaps?" Felipe wheeled around. "Guards! Clean this place up now!"

"I want to sit here. My master does not give parties enough for me to enjoy them often." Pam shot us a look and I have to say, I really do think she was pouting.

"You poor soul!"

"Come, sit with me, and I will tell you about my master." Felipe just nodded as Pam led him off, leaving Eric still on his knees and myself shaking next to him.

"What the hell was that?"

"Not now. We're getting out of here." Eric was up and dragging me out of the room. With his free hand, he was punching something into his phone—orders, I assumed.

"What about Pam?"

"Bubba is entertaining them. She will be fine," Eric said cryptically.

"Jason? Where's—"

"Your cousin snuck in and picked him up." We were now in the hallway; guests' heads were turning, either because of the blood or because of Eric's exposed abs, I don't know. "He'll be back in his room by now."

"Then what—" I paused. Something didn't feel right. "Wait, when did you speak with Claude? Or see him there?"

The elevator doors slid shut behind us. Eric slouched against the wall, his hands pressed down on the rounded ball. My emotions were so worked up that I couldn't concentrate; I found myself distracted by the drop of something wet sliding down the sharply cut V into his waistband. Just because of emotional energy, you know.

Eric cleared his throat and I jerked my eyes up to see his phone held out to me. There on the screen was a photo message—my cousin Claude, obscenely licking what looked like a tiny shiny golden arrow. I frowned; I'd be having a little chat with Claude about what was appropriate to send my boyfriend. (Even if Eric objected strenuously to that term—and I do mean strenuously, hooo boy!—I wasn't going to call him "lover.")

"Read the message, lover," said lover said in very amused tones.

I hit the "enter" button and saw the little message. "Sure thing, I'll be your Cupid anytime. He won't know what hit him. ;) But you would if you wanted…"

Two thoughts came immediately to mind:

_I am so going to kill Claude_.

_God bless Claude_.

My hands were shaking when I finally looked up, feeling Eric's fingers detach the phone from mine, and then feeling my arms being rubbed by big, very determined hands. "Lover?"

"You _coordinated_ that?"

"Of course." In a billion years, I'd never mistake that cheerful dash of ego for any other man. "And it worked well, didn't it? Right down to the last player."

"I thought—I thought—" I couldn't speak for the tears starting to bubble over my eyelashes and the knot in my throat.

"Cease this, woman, cease this." Eric's frantic fingers slid over my cheeks, trying to block the tears. That just made me madder.

"I thought you were going to get _killed!_"

"Would you be angrier if I said you could have been killed, too?" That did it. With that, I began whaling on him with my fists, smacking that hard chest for all I was worth.

"_No!"_ Now I was a snotty, teary mess, and my hands hurt from stinging on his flesh. "Don't you ever—"

I didn't get a chance to threaten him—or hear him yell at me for threatening him—because I was suddenly pushed against the elevator wall, his mouth sealed hotly on mine.

AN: Just a little bit this time, but I'm staying on track—my goal is a weekly update!


	81. Chapter 81

_Pam here. What, you expected that Leia human to show up after a fucking year? So I took care of that. She's had my master tied up longer than Sookie, and at least he _loves_ Sookie. Come to think of it, he probably wouldn't mind in the slightest if she wanted to take a turn playing _Master_. I'm rather good at it myself. Pity they won't invite me to play. _

_Besides, he will let me plan the boyfriend/girlfriend party. What the fuck kind of party does this author need? _

_So let's just say I chatted with her and made sure she understood—I am not very happy when my master is left hanging, and there had better be a god-damned happy scene. And I do mean happy. Or I will not be happy. And I might become unpleasant, and I do so hate to be unpleasant…_

"Shit!" Normally, even when I'm with Eric, I'm not one to swear too much—a legacy of Gran's raising me and the ever-present soap she'd wave in front of my face. But this elevator ride deserved it. It felt like we were in the elevator for months, not minutes, and they were the longest months of my life. Partly because we were both not exactly fit for public viewing at the moment—our clothes were shredded like wild animals had been at them, our bodies covered in gore (my brain refused to acknowledge the source of it), and, the _piece de resistance_ (a Word of the Day Christmas bonus phrase), in Pam's view of suitability—I'd lost a shoe. We both looked like survivors of the Apocalypse, I'm sure, or of media experts going insane over the latest story of shocking injustice.

Not exactly the kind of people you'd want to share an elevator or a public place with, right? Well, me, anyway. Even covered in suspicious red stuff, Eric with his shirt shredded would be a sight to see, I'll admit.

But there was more to the torture of those long, long minutes on the elevator than just embarrassment over our state. Our indecency had become, well, um…._indecent._

The elevator seemed to have been made by someone who vigorously protested the old song, "Love in an Elevator." Every other minute, we'd go a bit upward, Eric's body would slam against mine, those familiar fireworks would start to go off—and then, the elevator would hang, and Eric's hips were held back from me as if the Creator had suddenly decided Thou Shalt Not Covet included gorgeous Vikings who were yours.

"Fuck," Eric hissed against my neck, and I knew he was about as happy as I was. Probably unhappier, given that the minutes we slammed together proved just how "happy" he wanted to be. I might have thought my body was about to burst, but his actually felt that way. I groaned wordlessly as his body shoved against mine with all the subtlety of a sander blasting away against a wall, my fingers catching in his collar, rubbing the back of his neck in a way guaranteed to set his Thumper button a-goin'.

It might have been cruel, given the circumstances, but what can I say? It was instinct.

Just like it was instinct when his mouth moved from my neck back to my lips, demanding mine. Or when he caught one of my hands—then frantically groping at his biceps—and slammed it down on his magnificent derriere.

(That was one of my first, and favorite, Words of the Day.)

"No fair," I gasped against him. I was past caring if there were security cameras in the elevator; if I had to experience the world's longest foreplay, I couldn't do worse than Eric Northman. Although waiting for Eric's romantic skills is a bit like sitting there and staring at a sundae you're not allowed to eat until after dinner. _Way_ after dinner.

"Wrong, just wrong." It's hard talking around your boyfriend's tongue, did you know that?

"Right," he smirked. Of course, _he'd_ have no problem whatsoever managing to kiss and talk sensibly at the same time.

I rolled myself against him, enjoying the way his eyes seemed to widen and brighten in response, but I didn't get to see his reply—

-"YOUNG PEOPLE THESE DAYS! AREN'T YOU TWO ASHAMED—"

"Fuck, no," Eric growled. "Do you know how fucking long this has taken?" The scowling, now-gaping old lady at the now-open door of our elevator stepped back as Eric swiveled us (yours truly still doing her best monkey impression in clinging to him) around and marched us back to our suite. I had no doubt Eric would have been willing to take me right there in front of the Vegas version of Maxine Fortenberry, but he apparently knew that even in my current desperation, there were still lines in the sand for me.

Which reminded me of those cameras…

"I hope what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas," I muttered in his ear as he hustled us to our suite.

"Not this," he shot back, and in a blink all I could see around us was bright light. We were in the bathroom and—

"Did you just _rip _my dress off?" I barely had time to register the water starting to cascade down over me.

"It needed to go." The nice thing about being with a vampire is that he moves _fast_ when he needs to do so. Almost too fast—this would've been a fantastic strip tease, one worthy of Hooligan's at its best, if he'd just slowed down. But Eric was apparently past the teasing stage—and judging from the sizable, um, impatience he was showing as he tore his bloodied pants off, I could see why.

"Pam?"

"Is perfect. Fine. Don't worry." He pushed me back against the shower, under the water suddenly steaming over my skin, as he entered it. Suddenly, the shower seemed very, very small. "Felipe's neutralized and now all we have to do"-I felt his hands catch mine and pin them to the wall of the shower, spread out from our bodies—"—is let everything go." I glanced down inadvertently, following a stream of water plowing down Eric's chest, falling clear on the floor and draining away what pinkness remained in the water…_It was over. _We'd met our enemy; we'd come through together. Eric was safe; there was nobody to plague us; the fight was over and all to be done was to come together again. The way—I caught a breath, feeling his nipple push hard into my skin as he pressed into me—it always should have been.

The movement of his lower body against mine made me lift my head. He reared up over me, eyes blazing blue. "_Lover_."

I shivered under his suddenly serious gaze, barely believing we were there, heart-to-heart, safe. Even now, after hanging in that awful elevator forever, I still couldn't believe it: We were free. Weren't we? He loved me. _He loved me._And I loved him, loved him exultantly, like champagne overflowing a tower of glasses at a gold-and-white wedding. And were there any real threats to us left? Victor was dead, Felipe in sudden fit of infatuation with Pam, Jay the secretary was had been given Pam's best whammy of a glamor—and that just left "Ev-"

"-Eden," he mumbled, bucking slightly against me. "Paradise." He hoisted me up slightly and—well, hello, there, _sir_. I almost said as much but then I caught his eyes. Eric's libido always got a healthy boost whenever he'd come out of a dangerous situation okay (and sure, mine did as well, if I had to admit it). The look on his face, the song in his eyes, was a lot more than just sex, though. Those eyes were glowing, urgent, somber, needing—just like when he'd had me say _the words_ again—

And then the water on my face wasn't entirely from the shower.

"Lover." It seemed he whispered it, but it was hard to tell—I heard the water beading down on us, the slip of skin as our bodies met in union, the rhythmic thump of my hands as he pinned them to the wall, the soft pop of our palms as his met, and pulled from mine. His eyes were too blue to look away from—needing, almost reverent.

"Mine," he might have said, but I was beyond words. I felt the slip of heated water down my breast, wetting the nipple that throbbed against his skin; I shivered for the droplet that slid from the glittering little hairs above his pectorals, to his heart, to my chest.

"_Sookie_." Water was lapping my thighs as they gripped his sides. Water burned down my belly, down his, sprinkled and slid at the juncture of thigh and body, causing shivers to rise where I felt flames. It wasn't a time for thinking, but praying—praying inside, because for some reason, wrapped up in this tiny world where we'd first started, so long ago, it seemed wrong to say anything other than the most basic sighs of love. Neither of us would last long—but it didn't matter; I could feel the sweet coil of joy beginning to tighten in my belly just as I felt my skin wiped clean from above. His forehead was pressed down to mine, his eyes seeking mine like he had one witch upon a time, awed and innocent, as if only skin, not 1,000 years, separated us. The pearls of water slid, cool now, deeper. And as my thighs drove harder against him, as my feet pushed against his back for leverage—and there came those words again—the words that had me sobbing a finish, wrapping my arms around him, as his mouth claimed mine.

The water was cooler now, and goosebumps rose between my body and Eric's. We didn't move, though—didn't say anything, honestly. He held my body, trembling from the inside out, as I ducked my head to his shoulder, rubbing his neck fiercely. He was hardly unaffected; I felt the tremor there, too. It was like two little wires were deep inside of us, making our skin hum and vibrate to the same mysterious beat.

There's a lot of stuff wrong in this world, but at that moment, sure as the sun rises, I knew what was right.

His voice—hoarse, but not from our fight downstairs, I knew—broke the silence. I looked up to eyes that reminded me of the child he had been, as well as the man he was now. His lips, soft lips, parted. "Sookie, I—"

And now I finally found my voice. "I know."

_AN: Yes, there's at least one more chapter. I thought you deserved a fluffier chapter, though, to make up for my very extensive absence. (What can I say—life bites sometimes, and not in the Eric Northman way. :K ) Thank you to all who have expressed support of this fic and who have been very, very, VERY patient for its continuance. _


	82. Chapter 82

_AN: Many apologies for the long wait. I'd say more, but I'm not a big fan of excuses. Or of seals lately! *Ahem* That said, if you want a refresher: The end of chapter 70 starts the last major sequence, with Sookie "yielding" and then the action scenes with Victor, Felipe, et al. Chapter 78 starts with an outline of the story as a whole. You'll see in this chapter you're going to get a recap conversation to remind you of where we are for the central mystery. _

_And this isn't the final chapter, since my long wait made the catch-up scene necessary and made me even more anxious to get this out. (In case you want to know how far I am, since I made you wait so long for this—well, I have written the final scene. I'm currently working on the intermediary scenes. So, yes, we are very, very, very near the end zone. Let's just say a recent book quite inspired me to take this to the end.) _

_Also, I'm wrestling with FF's formatting, so apologies for a weird break mark between sections. I thought it was better to have that than a very, very abrupt scene transition._

His voice—hoarse, but not from our fight downstairs, I knew—broke the silence. I looked up to eyes that reminded me of the child he had been, as well as the man he was now. His lips, soft lips, parted. "Sookie, I—"

And now I finally found my voice. "I know." Because I did; because this was right, and had been all along. And those bubbles with me were overflowing, like my eyes. "I love you, Eric." I laughed again, because how couldn't I, after all this? "I love you."

Maybe the room wasn't fully lit, but his smile lit it then. His forehead touched mine briefly, wordlessly, before I felt us borne back to the bedroom, myself swaddled in a towel. He placed me on the bed before drawing a towel over his own wetness. And maybe it was the moonlight, maybe it was the pearls of water sliding, liquid diamonds, down his skin, or maybe it was just the smile of a man who had sat before many a fire with me, just to hear about my day—but he seemed to glow.

He slid over me, holding himself above me on those arms that could hold me forever. His eyes, dark but bright, held mine. I heard those foreign words again, and then, soft as silence, their English equivalent. "I love you, Sookie."

"I love you, Eric," I whispered back, my hands sliding up desperately to move into his hair, and now there was no doubt that he glowed.

He slid down to me, as we moved into one another, together, the way we should be, the way we would be. "Look at me," he said, as I brought him home, our eyes meeting, and it seemed for a long time we were there motionless, bound by body, blood, being, before his hips drove us forward. Still joined, always joined, he moved back on his heels, drawing me over his thighs with a hiss.

"No," I said, and that eyebrow, wonderful eyebrow, slid up.

"Look at us," I whispered back, tilting into him, and now his glow was mine.

~tstststs~

Jason looked confused. With his new "Elvis Live"—or was that, "Elvis Lives"?—hat shading his eyes from the sun, he cocked his head at me. "Okay, now tell me again, because I'm ain't following this shit."

I sighed, not for the first time. Around us, the Vegas crowds passed by our patio brunch, unaware of the little drama at our table. We were spending a few hours out before our last flight out of Vegas—just the three of us, Jason, myself, and our cousin Claude. It wasn't something I'd planned.

I'd woken up alone that morning—to be expected, since the sun was surely high in the sky. But what wasn't expected was the loud noise from the next room.

"SOOK, YOU THERE?"

I grabbed a robe and headed out to meet Jason before he stormed the bedroom and got more than he intended. He at least seemed fleetingly aware of the possibility—I caught snatches of his thoughts:

_Please have some clothes on. That just ain't right._

I found Jason turned away from the bedroom door, hands on hips, and positively vibrating with energy. He wasn't alone, I realized; there was Claude, ridiculously gorgeous in a shirt left completely unbuttoned.

It'd be a really nice view if he weren't family, I have to say.

Claude seemed to have his own idea of a good view on his mind, I noticed—he looked at me sharply and then craned his neck and openly checked out the bedroom. He wasn't looking at the (embarrassingly tussled) bedding, I knew; he was looking to get an eyeful of Eric.

"He's down for the day," I said a bit tartly as Claude's shoulders slumped. He gave me a sullen glare, before his face turned thoughtful, still looking at me. I wanted to remind him that it wasn't done to try to get surreptitious peeks at your cousin's man, but then again, this was Claude, who had shifted a little closer to Jason now.

"We've got a few hours before we've got to get to the airport, Claude says, so we should do something!" Jason announced, a touch too enthusiastically. I didn't need to read Jason's thoughts to feel the confusion and concern in his voice.

"Seems like she's already done—"

Jason's brain appeared to freeze right in front of me and I stepped in to save him. "A lot of shopping in Vegas. Jase, let me get cleaned up and we can explore."

"Well, hurry! We ain't got all day!" I'd have pointed out to Jason that he was the one who had used up the hot water every day during high school, but I didn't have the energy for it.

"Women," groaned Claude, throwing himself in one of the chairs. He perked up suddenly. "Need any help back there?"

_Nice try_. "Nope, thanks."

I didn't and it wasn't just to evade Claude's efforts to get an eyeful of Viking. Eric had already prepped himself for the flight; since we were flying in daylight, he'd be in his travel coffin. It was already laid out on the floor of the bedroom and it wasn't hard to tell to whom it belonged, thanks to the red racing stripes painted on the side.

"If there's more than one of you, Lord help us all," I muttered. I lifted the unlocked lid to get a last peek at my honey. (He could've locked it from within—and when it was locked, there'd be a green light on the side to tell the movers that the right vamp was within—but he'd left it open, no doubt for me.)

No doubt indeed. He was in sweats and a t-shirt, but the t-shirt had been pushed up to reveal his abs and the sweatpants—well, they'd been pushed down a little, too. He'd taken off his shoes and socks and tucked them alongside his bare feet, and in one hand, he held something fabric—

"You are _not_ flying around with my underwear in your hand, mister!" I snatched it back, my face probably redder than the interior of his coffin.

His face made it clear he'd anticipated just this response—he'd gone to sleep with a smirk on his face. No matter that he tended to look so much younger in his sleep—frankly, so much more innocent—he still had that naughty curve to his mouth that said he'd been up to No Good. It would have infuriating if, well, it weren't Eric.

"Oh, you big goof," I muttered. I was tempted to get my revenge—I could try tickling his feet, but in his daytime rest, he either wouldn't feel it or couldn't react much (which just made me feel bad for thinking of it). Instead, I charitably grabbed his phone and changed the ringtone.

"Well, maybe Katy Perry won't mortify you, but it sure does describe what happens when you're around." I tucked the phone back into his hand, stuck my tongue out at him—but couldn't quite bring myself to close the lid.

It was no fair. Weren't the fairytales the other way around? But I did it anyway—I leaned in give him a good smooch before locking him away for transport. His lips were still against mine, but still soft, and still Eric's. Even still a bit warm from last-

"JESUS, SOOK, YOU DONE YET?"

_Why does that guy keep lookin' at me? Even Lafayette knows only the ladies get a piece of this! Fuck! He smiled! Where the hell is Sook, anyway? _

"SOOK!"

"I'm COMING, Jason!" I'm sure our neighbors appreciated the noise, but there was no taming him, I'd found out long ago. (As in school, in a hallway: I flinched at memories of Jason announcing, way too loudly, that I must have a crush on my math teacher from the way I'd been drawing hearts in my notebook.)

Well, sue me. He _was _very attractive.

At least I hadn't been drawing what I'd been looking at!

(Unlike Jason's notebooks, which contained more anatomical art than notes, I have to say.)

I patted the lid as I closed it and locked it for him. "See you soon." We were all flying back to Bon Temps today—a rapid withdrawal to avoid causing any more trouble. Pam or Bobby must've made the arrangements; all I knew was that sometime in the night, Eric had prodded me (no, not like _that_) and had told me instructions were on the bedside table.

I sighed and grabbed my bag. Apparently, being part of a couple had yet to take off any of his high-handedness, but then, that's Eric for you.

And would I want to hang around here, all things considering? It still felt like something was hanging over my head, something I hadn't figured out yet—something was off. Like not being able to sleep after a really _strenuous_ naptime, if you know what I mean.

I shook that thought and rejoined Jason and Claude. "We're going to brunch and then shopping," Claude told me.

Was high-handedness a supe thing?

I just nodded—after all, I did have to eat. I hoped Claude wasn't thinking of going to very expensive stores; even though I knew Eric wouldn't let me pay my way, I still had bills to pay back home.

That's how we ended up the hotel's patio buffet. Las Vegas might have a lot of sights to see, but I didn't want to go too far from the vamps on a flight day, and with Jason's hunger, it just made a lot more sense to go buffet. (Especially since I got the sense I was paying for Jason. "Sure your man will take care of this, right, Sook?" he'd said before loading up a plate. "Her man can take care of anything he—damn it, woman, be careful!" Claude snarled, when my elbow "happened" to catch his side.)

And now Jason wanted a recap of just how we'd arrived here. I glanced to my side. Claude smirked next to me, but the smirk fell off his face when I tapped the side of my iced tea glass. He shifted closer to Jason, who ignored him, arms already waving at me as if sketching out vamp politics were like describing a football play-by-play.

Come to think of it, maybe he wasn't wrong.

Jason began to feel his way through the plot again. "So there's a king vamp—king here in Vegas, right?"

"Felipe, yes."

"And his second guy, kinda like his lieutenant?"

"Yes, Victor."

"He's the dead guy? I mean, more dead than your man's dead?"

Given Victor was missing a head the last time I saw him, Jason was being surprisingly tactful. Next to me, Claude's face had begun to take on the pained look that many people new to Jason soon acquired. "Yes, that was Victor."

"So Victor lost all his dough and he was trying to make money fast. So he set up some fancy club near your man's, and has been trying to hurt your fella."

Claude and I both nodded. I didn't have to mention it all: the arson attempt at Fangtasia, the attack on Pam's house, the were attack at the club, the bomb attached to Eric's Corvette, the road assault that left Pam's minivan crumpled. (Jason would remember the last, since Pam had commandeered Jason's truck for us after that. I doubted even a glamour would wipe that memory away. Threat to my life? Possibly forgettable. Scratch on Jason's truck? Hell to pay.)

"And the people he's been sending after y'all have been some vamp chick, but you say she ain't hot."

"I said no such thing. I said she was…just an employee of Victor's." Remembering Evie's efforts to rub herself against Eric—well, my halo was surely shining, I thought virtuously.

"Your sister thinks that girl's a fucking bitch," Claude translated for Jason.

"But hot?" Jason looked momentarily hopeful. "Ow, why you got kick me, Sook?"

Even though Claude's glittery design sunglasses hid his eyes, I knew he'd just rolled them. "So, anything else?"

"So the Victor dude had a day guy, Crandle, and he's the guy you and me nailed, and I beat the shit out of." Jason's chest swelled. I can't say for sure our Gran would have been proud of that statement. It had been for a good cause, right? "So that's how we know Victor was all up in your man's business and trying to kill you and all that shit."

"Right." In fact, Crandle was still in the vamps' possession, somewhere—probably kept to provide evidence of Victor's misdoings. There was no way he'd just stopped at Eric, I mused—no doubt he probably had other fingers in other vamp pies. That thought reassured me, again, that the king wouldn't come after Eric for killing Victor. Of course, Eric had arranged with Claude to make Felipe fall in love with Pam—and for love of Pam, Felipe wouldn't touch a hair on Eric's head.

If he were a smart man, I thought, he wouldn't do it for fear of Pam. Or of anybody else, a little voice in my head reminded me, a vision of what I'd left this morning making my stomach muscles flutter. I set my jaw and stirred the ice in my drink.

"And he had the hot—okay, that vamp chick you don't like. Shut up, you ought to see your face! Tell me you like her." I was silent, remembering the first time I saw her, pawing at—er, dancing with Eric. I was really going to have to work on my Christian forgiveness. "Okay, so that chick was hooking up with some human dude, Jerry. And she had him do all kinds of shit for her, to hurt your man. And she found out stuff through him, 'cause his bro worked for that big freaky guy with the purple eyes. Y'know, the one you dated for a day or so. I never did like him, Sook."

"Thanks, Jason," I muttered into my tea.

"Seconded," Claude slid back in his chair and made a big production of yawning. "I guess he could come be a genie in my club, but he'd probably put us all to sleep."

Jason plowed on. "And the Jerry guy's dead, 'cause he ended up dead somehow."

Somehow but not somewhere—he actually ended up dead on my doorstep. I didn't tell Jason that; it wasn't exactly something I wanted to advertise. Some people have welcome mats in front of their doors—yours truly, I had a body.

"And y'all had a big smack-down the other night, and we kicked the ass of the bad guys."

Claude managed to perk up for a second, leaning back in his chair and craning his neck. "Speaking of asses—"

Jason overrode him. "So are we cool then? We going back home and we don't have anybody else to worry about?"

I shrugged and sipped my tea. I wasn't sure what had happened to Quinn's secretary after the melee of the night before, but surely he wouldn't be hard to find? And was there anything else to worry about? I hadn't told Jason, for obvious reasons, that my relationship with Eric had finally shifted in our hours here. It wasn't the kind of thing you announced in a status update on one of those social networking sites, after all. I remembered the war whoop he'd given when I told him I loved him, that first time; I remembered the way in which the words broke from his mouth as well. And I remember the night before, how he had made love to me—well, really, we had made love, I realized, a full-body shiver of memory upon me, the fibers of my skin remembering the burn of his beard, the quiver of my thigh muscles against the drive of his rock-solid ones, the simmering sweat on his skin, the wet gasp of his mouth as mine—

"Cousin's not worrying, she's too busy thinking about getting laid," Claude decided to tell Jason.

I really, really hated Claude, I decided.

Jason just looked revolted. "Fuck, man, that's my sister!"

Claude shrugged. He would shrug, given that family in the world of fairy—well, it didn't have quite the same boundaries as ours.

Unless by "ours" you meant something you might find on a trashy daytime talk show.

Jason apparently decided to solve my reputation by chalking it up to a vacation impulse. "Okay, well, we're in Vegas, and it ain't cool to talk about that stuff afterwards, remember. So you can't talk about me and that awesome vamper, remember." He winked at me. I knew he meant Pam—she'd babysat him one night while we were here, and by that I meant they did the round of clubs. Given Pam was lesbian and very happily so, I had a feeling there wasn't much more to talk about with regard to Jason and Pam.

I paused and glanced at Jason's thankfully bare left hand. At least, I prayed there wasn't more to talk about.

Of course, who was I to talk, a part of me kicked myself. According to the vamps, Eric and I had apparently become married, thanks to an exchange of blood and a sword. That was all just words of protection, though, as Eric had told me—but it was still felt very strange. Maybe Eric was one of the most desirable undead bachelors, but he sure wasn't the marrying kind. Of course, me being human, that'd be a problem, too—but what was I doing, causing problems that didn't exist? I shoved that thought from my mind and decided to be grateful for what I had.

_Eric loved me._ I may have given Jason my crazy smile. Next to him, Claude made a silent gagging motion.

Jason apparently didn't see Claude's gesture, or Claude's "other" variation of a gagging gesture. (It was a split-second motion, as he knew I was about to throw my tea on him.) "So we'll all go home, and there won't be no more of that talk." He shot Claude a glare. Claude, who had just handed his cellphone to have a picture taken by a waiter—who seemed to think Claude was some kind of rock god in disguise—shrugged again.

I fanned myself in the Vegas heat, ignoring both of them.

That was how we ended up on the plane Eric had chartered for all of us. It had been a long morning—too long, I thought, glancing over at Jason. He was having a go at chatting up the stewardess again. For her part, she looked just as thrilled as he was.

_Some things never change_. I flipped through the magazines on my lap. They all had cheesy titles like, "FOREVER," with stories about the latest in marriage equality. Seems the Northeast states weren't the only ones changing their laws lately.

"Sook! Gimme one of them magazines." Jason waved a hand frantically across the aisle. Returning with water, the stewardess saw only my brother, pretending to look longingly at wedding photos.

"Makes a man wish—well, we all had the one who got away, right?" he asked the stewardess, smiling sadly, a man well versed in the sorrows of the world. I knew that smile, as Jason had debuted it in his brief turn in the Bon Temps High School Drama Club. He'd joined as a favor to Hoyt, who was at that time desperate to get closer to a girl in it. Jason actually didn't do too badly, despite the unspeakable requirement of having to learn one's lines, but he found, as he put it, "The theater chicks didn't put out that much, 'cept that chick Hoyt wanted to bang, so it wasn't worth it."

Whatever else he got from the club, he did get some skills. Jason was selling the pathos this time. The stewardess put her hand on her heart, suitably stricken.

Unwilling to watch the performance further, I turned back to my own reading.

"Wish he'd just fuck her and put us out of our misery," Claude snarled, less than quietly.

"Quiet, you."

"Hmph." He was leaning now over my shoulder, glancing at my tabloids. Guess he'd been looking for the Sexiest Man issue, but that wasn't on the stands today. Maybe I'd give him a thank you for his help on this trip—okay, even though I was pretty sure he wasn't trying to help me so much as Eric—and have a copy sent around to Hooligans.

Then again, reflecting on their clientele, they probably already had it, I decided. Wasn't Claude just telling me yesterday about the new Ryan Gosling homage they'd created for his show? He even had some girl jump on him as water poured down him, he said. (I remembered his words:_"It doesn't do a damn thing for me, but the twenties sure fly after that." _Claude was surely born for the entertainment business._) _

Now he was pulling a frowning face at the newlyweds waving on a moonlit courthouse steps on the cover.

"I'd think you'd be glad," I muttered, distracted, as I handed him a magazine. I was ashamed of myself the minute I said it. Sure, Claude was hardly in the closet—despite Jason's desperate efforts to ignore that fact—but who wanted their sex life trotted out in public? Or, I thought, glancing down at the image of a fanged bride waving a bouquet of corpse flowers, not of the same DNA as everybody else?

I paused. Well, best not to go far down _that_ line of thought.

He briefly lowered his sunglasses to see me. "Wouldn't affect me anyway, I'm not a vamp." Up went the shades again. "Besides, I like change." From the direction of his gaze and the lick of his tongue, I gathered he wasn't talking about the laws.

"Well, some of us only have a few decades." Distracted, I elbowed him to spare Jason the ogling.

Claude was equally distracted, although now by the picture of some Swedish actor in my magazine. Couldn't say I blamed him there. We both paused to admire his frame. "Just her." Without taking his eyes off the Swedish hunk, he nodded at the stewardess, who had gone giggling off to the back of the plane.

"Huh? What about her?"

"Yeah, what about her?" Now we had Jason's attention.

"She's human, will be gone before we know it." He sighed, licked a finger, and flipped a page. He was now eyeing a photo of the new Superman. "Fucking shame to waste that hotness."

I was bracing myself for Claude's version of a "seize the day" speech (maybe "carpe sex'em"? Well, Eric would like that philosophy, I suppose)—so I didn't think of the obvious issue. Jason, naturally, did.

"Dude, quit talking like you're a vamper." He added this a bit carefully, as if afraid Claude, despite the sun, would suddenly bear fangs.

_Crap_. I'd never gotten along to explaining our family history to Jason. He wouldn't know Claude, well—wouldn't be checking out any time soon.

"Whatever." Our cousin lowered his voice to me as Jason turned aside. "He's going to get a surprise in a few, isn't he?"

"What do you mean?"

Now the shades slid down all the way. "You really think you're the same as _them_?" He waved a hand toward the front of the plane. Back went the shades, and his shoulders lifted in a shrug again. "Besides, with all you've been doing—_who _you've been doing—"

I hissed and grabbed his forearm. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Claude froze over a picture of a blond actor in a suit. The actor was cuddling a little girl who clung to him adoringly. "Come to _daddy_."

"Claude!"

"What, tell me you wouldn't bang that like a door in a tornado?"

"Claude!"

"I don't even _have_ ovaries but I think they're exploding."

"I meant about what you were saying before!"

"Oh? What?" His shoulders moved. He didn't bother to look at me, just the very handsome man in the image. "Yeah, whatever. Nobody knows, okay? At least, fuck if I know." He shrugged again. "Not like we've got mixes everywhere. And I haven't found my mate." He pouted. Tragically, Jason, currently mesmerized by the TV in front of him, didn't benefit from this. "Plus, with all you've been swapping with your piece of ass—well, who knows, I'm saying you might find you rub off on each other." Now, while he still wasn't looking away from his magazine, his smile was very clear. "Because I can tell you've rubbed against—Ouch!" Just in case you wanted to know: apparently, fairies can feel a pinch. "Okay, so fuck, magic happens, okay?"

"But you don't know that it will." I shuffled the pages in my lap, and cursed a little at the sting of a paper cut. Apparently, I found to my irritation as well as relief, I wasn't suddenly magical, as the cut still burned like hell.

My phone buzzed in my lap, so I dug in my purse, playing the usual game of bottom-of-the-purse tag with it before I triumphantly slid it out. I had a few messages waiting, apparently. Sam had texted me to hope I won a lot and to watch out for loaded dice. (I wondered, briefly, if he could smell them.) Tara had taken a surreptitious picture of a figure I instantly recognized as Sam. (I'm not that good at spotting his body, just in case you're wondering, but how many guys do you know who always wear flannel shirts or Merlotte's T-shirts?) It was blurry, but he appeared to be standing next to a woman. Tara's text confirmed this—"I think Sam's got a girlfriend! Not JannaBitch!"

I'd like to say I just muttered, "Whoop-dee-doo"—after all, I was raised to mind my own business, as a good lady always did. But then again, I was also raised in Bon Temps, where gossip was as natural as oxygen.

"Is she nice?" I texted back. I really hoped that worked out. Sam was, after all, like a brother to me—often, to be honest, a better brother to me than Jason. It would've been convenient if something had ever happened between us, but there was a reason it never had. I took a second to think back to the days when we'd almost started something—Sam was nice enough, attractive and sweet, definitely interested, but—well. As I used to say to Gran when I was a little girl, picking apart the better part of dinner from the boring, he was "just potatoes."

Tara was apparently minding her phone, so I got my answer back fast. "Dunno. Just saw it yesterday. How was V—?"

She might have been talking about Vegas. Or not, I decided, thinking about Tara, her enemies (vampires), and, fighting down a blush, the one who definitely wasn't my enemy (a Viking). Well, this wasn't the kind of thing to talk about via text. "Will talk later."

I checked out the other messages. Ahhh, here was the reason my phone had been ablaze of late. Amelia. I flipped through her previous texts rapidly.

"You haven't checked in with me. Sex yet?"

"Pam's counting how many times she's caught his hand on your ass, just FYI. I get $100 if he scores double digits, so take one for the team."

"Pam said he's testy. AHEM, Stackhouse."

"HAHAH, I'm so going to order from Sephora. Thanks for the 100, roomie."

"OMFG! WHYYYY has Pam just sent me this?" I saw a forwarded text from Pam; she'd apparently text Amelia, I noted, despite her supposed disdain for texting me on Eric's behalf. I made a mental note to tease Amelia about that later. What caught my eye just then, though, was Pam's text itself: "FUCKING FINALLY." And attached there was a forwarded photo of us from—well, earlier, and I couldn't help smiling. That was the night we were dancing and I'd told him how I felt. I had my arms around him and he'd lifted me up in a sweeping embrace—so I guessed the photo was right after that. Feeling the echo of that night's smile still on my face, I touched the little diamond at my neck reflexively and then I paused. Pam hadn't had her phone out when we were, um, occupied. I took a second glance at the photo. It was a bit grainy, and at first I had thought it was just a low-quality cell pic, but then it occurred to me—_a security cam still?_

"Is that from a security camera?!"

Amelia fired back quickly. "Dunno, prob'ly. She said there's video for later." I blinked at the phone. Not much to say to that, is there?

"Oh, and she posted it to the Fangtasia FB page."

"WHAT?"

"Yeah, it has 1,000 likes already. HAHAHAH."

"NO." My face was red.

"Hahaha, no. Said the bitches after Fanged and Fuckable would go ballistic."

I wasn't quite sure whether to be relieved or more embarrassed."Nice."

The phone buzzed in my hand again. "Hey, roomie, just btw…"

"?"

"Pam wanted more of your measurements and the house's measurements, too. Seems to think she should get ready to buy some prezzies. APPARENTLY, someone's maker has been in a FABULOUS mood lately. As in, Pam's getting a wardrobe full of Dior FABULOUS. So how many times was it?"

Oh, great. I knew Eric had hardly told Pam last night about us, or the _full_ extent of what had happened before. My sense was he'd always kept a bit of a wall between them when it came to us, but that didn't stop Pam from trying to take a peek over that wall whenever she could. I fished in my memories of _Vampire Knowledge 101: Maker/Child Bond_ (otherwise known as _Be Nice to Eric or Pam Will Watch the World Burn_). Based on what they'd said before—or even Bill and that awful Lorena—if he was trying to block her from reading his emotions, I bet she could still sense his emotions when he was relaxed.

I remembered the glorious masculine shout, the blissful softening of his jaw and throat, the little purr as he pulled me from below up to him, smiling.

Well, I guess that _would_ count as relaxed.

I'd have been more mortified but I was holding on to hope that she couldn't sense him every time he'd been "relaxed."

Otherwise, Pam might be keeping a score counter somewhere. I had awful, awful visions now of a scoreboard flicking numbers on the walls of Fangtasia, as the patrons cheered. Knowing Pam, she'd probably give free rounds on the house, too. I shuddered.

"Sooo….you might think about if you'd like a second garage."

That took me by surprise. "What?"

"Welll….the Corvette's got to stay somewhere, right?"

I fired back a noncommittal smiley and stashed the phone to the side. It did bring a thought to my mind, though—as I peeked back at the phone and saw just a ":K" from a person whose contact info on my phone had been apparently edited during the night. At least, I didn't recall ever changing his name to "Your Lover."

I tucked the phone back away, turning my face to the clouds flying by us. There was the sun, bright and happy as it was, but not the reason for the nearly painful glow in my chest just now.

_Maybe the Corvette did need somewhere to stay. _

~tstststs~

AN #2: I hope this chapter's not too choppy—it was hard fusing together the various parts. We're going back "home" next time and the action will start picking up again.

AN #3: Thank you, always, for your reviews and comments. I cannot begin to say how appreciated they are.


	83. Chapter 83

_AN: Here's where we are, folks. I had planned two more chapters (which were to be 83 and 84). I was working on 83, looked up, checked its length, and realized it was twenty pages. So I decided to break it in two, so that a.) I get it out to you faster and b.) I could get your thoughts on this first part, as I suspect, coughcoughcough, the comments would be more about activities in the second half, still to come—and I want to make sure I haven't missed anything in this bit. That said, the second part is written, I'm going over it now, and I'll post it either tonight or tomorrow. And to give you a sense of trajectory, once these two come out, we'll be starting the final sequence. _

_ Thank you, as always, for your thoughts. If you see anything or remember anything that you want to see resolved, please share your thoughts. I want to make sure I don't miss anything as I wrap this up!_

"Sooo….you might think about if you'd like a second garage."

Amelia's text took me by surprise. "What?"

"Welll….the Corvette's got to stay somewhere, right?"

I fired back a noncommittal smiley and stashed the phone to the side. It did bring a thought to my mind, though—as I peeked back at the phone and saw just a ":K" from a person whose contact info on my phone had been apparently edited during the night. At least, I didn't recall ever changing his name to "Your Lover."

I tucked the phone back away, turning my face to the clouds flying by us. There was the sun, bright and happy as it was, but not the reason for the nearly painful glow in my chest just now.

_Maybe the Corvette did need somewhere to stay. _

~tstststs~

"You okay there, Sook?" Sam's question pierced my thoughts.

"Sure!" I agreed, wiping down a glass. But I wasn't sure I was okay. Sure, my body felt fine. Sure, Eric had stopped by a few times to make sure it felt more than fine. But something just felt…off.

It had been a few weeks since we'd returned from Las Vegas. To the irritation of Eric, I was spending my days at my house again. I wasn't going to abandon it, after all, and hadn't the whole point of the Vegas trip been to end all of this dancing around? Eventually, we compromised. (And I do mean "eventually," there was a lot of door-slamming and shouting before we got to that point.) On nights when I wasn't working, or with Eric (my place or his), I knew I might see a white face out in the woods, and I wouldn't ask why. At least Bubba really liked looking out for me, I thought, so I wasn't making too much trouble for him; it wasn't like there was much he could do, and he did like to feel useful. And if I sat outside at night, rocking a bit in the old swing, I might even hear someone serenading me from the woods.

Much better than a security alarm, I had to admit.

I was still working, even though I didn't deserve a job after all of this. Sam, fortunately, made allowances for my recent absence. (Or maybe unfortunately for him; it was hard enough, he said, to find a good waitress; he couldn't afford to be firing ones.) His mood might have been improved somewhat by a car I noticed in the lot the first time I came back to work. The bumper sticker on the black Honda read, "I Heart Border Collies!" I couldn't help myself and peeked further. (To my credit, my car was parked right next to it—it's not like I openly snooped. We in Bon Temps, we have class.) Right in the back window was a decal: "If You're Happy And You Know It, Show Your Fangs."

With a growing suspicion in my heart, I headed into Sam's office to find him standing a little too close to a beaming Goth girl. "Hi, Sookie! I'm sure glad you're here!"

Mindy, the perkiest waitress to ever set foot in Fangtasia, had apparently grown close to Sam while I was away. From the blush and bashful smile he gave me, I figured I didn't have to worry about Sam. He could do a lot worse than a girl who really liked him, after all.

I'd gone back to work at Merlotte's, although my hours had dropped a little more than I normally carried. That was partly to accommodate Mindy (who continued to work at both Fangtasia and Merlotte's, and seemed genuinely thrilled to do both), and partly to make a little more space in my nights for…the folks who were more available at night. That's why I was working at Merlotte's right before the dinner rush, wiping down tables and refilling the ketchup bottles.

(We'd once tried to put little bowls of ketchup and mustard packets on the tables, but some folks apparently felt they were being treated to free condiments for a week, not a dinner. And that didn't entirely stop some folks; I noticed the ketchup had gone missing a few times after Mrs. Fortenberry stopped by for lunch. Lafayette had wanted to call her out on it, but Arlene pointed out we sometimes lost mustard bottles when Lafayette was in the kitchen, so that ended the discussion quickly.)

I wiped off a table, seeing my face in the glossy reflection. That's one of the reasons I've always liked waitressing—you get the satisfaction of seeing the immediate impact of your work. If all else went to hell, at least it went to hell with everything clean and tidy.

I tried to sort out my thoughts as I sorted out the condiments on the table. My brain still gnawed away at the idea, born in Vegas, that we were missing something—that some trouble was just around the corner. Eric at least hadn't argued with me on that point. "Perhaps so, my lover. Let us think on this further." Pam's answer wasn't any more reassuring: "Fuck that! Do you think I don't have enough shit to deal with?"

I checked my phone quickly in the pre-dinner lull. Pam had been on fire of late. First, she was mad about Felipe. She'd told Felipe they could only just be friends, but apparently he hadn't taken it quite as she'd liked. It had gotten to the point where nobody at Fangtasia would accept the flowers dropped off every night and the poor florist's staff had had to beg someone to just take the things. Pam herself would stalk through the club with a face like death, daring anyone to comment, before ritually throwing the flowers into the dumpster out back.

Second, she'd just gotten a book we both wanted. (It was the end of a series, a big deal for both of us, and Pam got an advanced international copy, out of some European country—Germany, I think. She wouldn't say where she got it and I was therefore fairly certain it was a gift from Felipe.) She'd been filling up my voicemail with her commentary as she read it:

"So far, this is shit. I am not happy."

"So far, Sookie, I have decided that the author was drunk. But you are far more entertaining when you are drunk."

I knew our favorite character must not be doing too well because she'd actually yelled in her next message: "WHAT FUCKERY IS THIS?"

(Amelia had heard that one even though I didn't even have my phone on speaker. "Man, she's pissed. What'd you do, screw over Eric?")

And then the most bizarre message of all:

"SEALS. FUCKING SEALS. I MAY NEVER HAVE SEX AGAIN."

(I didn't know what that one was about, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know.)

And still more: "This is complete bullshit!"

The worst was the last one, just a roar, the kind of rage typically heard before shoppers dove out of her way at a Black Friday Eve sale, I figured: "I WANT MY GOD DAMN HAPPILY EVER AFTER!" This was followed by a grim whisper, as ominous as Eric's sword cutting the air, "_And I will fucking have it_," before she hung up on me, too angry to speak. I didn't care call her back, for fear of being eaten alive by that Pandora's Box.

(I wasn't the only one with that thought. Apparently, she was in such a rage that day that Eric had texted me, asking me not to say anything about the book to her. He'd actually tried to take it from her, but she told him she'd be staking it herself.)

I had an easier time getting Pam's calls, or Eric's texts, because I had a new phone, a fancy smartphone. It arrived on my doorstop not long after we came home from Vegas, along with a cover. (Red, naturally.) I'd had words with the donor—those things aren't cheap and my old phone did just fine. Sure, Eric had bought me that one, too, but it was replacing one I'd lost thanks to him. This was different. I'd been all set to dig in and fight this one out, but he assured me it was a spare phone from Fangtasia's package plan, it was completely free to him, and it saved him money, anyway, as he wouldn't be constantly contacting someone off of his network plan. And maybe Amelia's expression when I told her this gave me second and third thoughts, but what can I say? Sometimes you have to give a little.

Also, I told myself, I was doing Eric a favor. I could keep an eye on Fangtasia's Facebook page during the day (Bobby and Ginger already did the work on that, but it was good to have an extra pair of eyes, Eric had told me), and I could keep up with Pam. She'd joined this little crafty social network where you clipped and sent on recipes, fashion pictures, decorating suggestions, and more. All the ladies loved it and Pam was its biggest fan of all. Eric told me that the first day she found that site, he'd had to drag her from the computer to go to ground; she'd actually started to get the bleeds without noticing it. In her obsession with that site, she'd already made new table decor for Fangtasia and had demanded the cooking staff experiment with the recipes she found.

They were really getting tired of cupcake recipes, I'd been told. Efforts to get Eric to intercede had failed, because Pam's recipes all came with a lot of chocolate, and for reasons that baffled the staff, Felicia and Indira told me, "the Master" seemed very enthusiastic about having anything chocolate around Fangtasia.

As he himself loved reminding me. Frequently.

As if on cue, my phone buzzed. Eric had been really very chatty of late; maybe it was his generally good mood, but for whatever reason, he'd had a lot of "up" time to text me.

"Your teenage dream checking in." Rather than being embarrassed, he'd loved my last ringtone change. (This was Eric, after all—what had I been thinking?) "Miss me?"

"Not since last hour. :P"

"Don't work too hard. Will need energy later." And as if I had no clue who was texting me (he'd snuck in and edited his info yet again—now it read, "MY VERY SEXY LOVER"), he'd added his little fangy face: ":K "

I stashed the phone back in my apron, as the folks at the bar were waving for help changing the TV channel. We always kept the remotes behind the bar, as you never knew what fights could break out over show choices—Andy Bellefleur, for example, hated anything related to those crime procedurals, Arlene and Lafayette were always fans of those "Real Housewife" shows, Jason and Hoyt wanted it always to be on ESPN, and Terry for some reason was fascinated by My Little Pony.

He insisted it was very deep. I didn't ask.

Tara was at the bar today, sitting next to a real quiet Peggy James. (Poor Peggy was a bit in the dumps, as she and her husband kept trying to have babies and it wasn't working out so well. I knew Sam wouldn't mind, so I slid her an extra beer. It was a shame that not all people who wanted kids could have 'em. Or that all not all kids could have parents, either, I thought, remembering my parents. That was life for you—you never knew what you'd get.)

Peggy wasn't feeling like talking, so I turned to Tara and got to ask her choice of show. ("Dr. Oz." She was convinced he might give insight into her mom's awful problems. And her own few premature gray hairs.)

"Why the hell did this happen to me? Since when am I old?" When I tried to reassure her, she just waved irritably at me. "Don't you even say anything! You barely look legal to drink! How is it you're always sunbathing and you don't even have a wrinkle? Do you even age? Why can't I have your genes?"

She was determined to grouse, so I just ignored her and flipped channels, searching for Dr. Oz. I thought I'd found it, but then the remote's battery, of course, chose to die on me.

"Gross, are those walruses fucking?"

Tara's exclamation, of course, filled the bar. Fortunately, a.) there weren't that many folks in there to hear it and b.) this is Bon Temps, where amorous sea mammals are hardly exciting stuff. Although to be fair, I'm not sure there's anywhere in the world where people get too excited over sea animals' sex lives.

Still, everybody looked over to check out the Discovery Channel's idea of smut. It all looked very unfortunate, I thought, finally smashing new batteries into the remote. Tara agreed, looking as revolted as the poor lady critter on the TV.

"Any man tries that around me, I'll switch teams in a heartbeat," she muttered over her glass at me.

"SOOK!" Sam's head, poking from the office hall, saved me. "Lafayette says we're down on napkins. Can you—?"

"Sure, no problem." I gave Arlene a nod to let her know I'd be in the stock room and headed off. A part of me wondered why Sam had not done it—he was right in his office, after all—but I had seen Mindy's car by his trailer, so maybe he was "preoccupied" in his office.

I couldn't blame him too much. Eric had been "preoccupied" a bit, too. I gave my phone a quick glance as I headed down the hall—he'd sent me a few jokes he'd found online, some clips of this zombie show we'd been watching. (He'd found it greatly amusing when I asked him if zombies were real, too, as if such a question were unreasonable in a world where vampires, shifters, fairies, and demons ran amok around humans. He'd stopped being amused when he caught me eyeing the very nice set of arms on one of the actors. Shortly thereafter, Eric's True Blood somehow spilled on his shirt, requiring him to sit shirtless next to me, with frequent needs to stretch and flex his arm muscles.

It was a credit to the show that I didn't completely forget the plot.)

I flipped rapidly through his other messages. He'd sent out some mass emails to the Fangtasia day staff—I got them, too, just in case a question came up—and to me, he'd sent as well a link to a restaurant Pam had suggested for us to visit. And those were just some of the messages he'd sent today. He really was getting quite speedy on that phone these days.

Pocketing the phone again, I pushed open the stockroom door and fumbled with the light.

"Please don't be afraid," I heard, whispered, before the room went black again.

~tstststststs~

_Oh, hell._ I may even have said it out loud. Generally, people do not approach you in dark rooms for no good purpose, I've found. (The one exception being Eric.) And this was clearly on the "no good purpose" reason for calling on me. Even though the light switch had been knocked off just as fast as I'd flipped it on, I knew already who was right by it—Jay, Quinn's secretary.

Automatically, I dropped my shields.

_Shit, I forgot, they say she can read minds. Shitshitshitdontthinkdonthinkdonthink. _Jay's panic filled my head and the little stockroom. I tried to remember the split second of his silhouette—gun or knife? I edged away from the door, groped around, trying to remember the layout—did we have enough room for me to push a rack on him, if it came to that? Was there anything potentially a weapon around me, other than extra paper towels? In my apron, my phone started vibrating—no doubt Eric had already picked up on the fear pulsing through me.

"Don't scream—don't do anything—" Jay's brain was working faster than his mouth. I saw colorful images, like a high-speed photo slideshow, passing before his memory—Jerry, who finally seemed to be getting back on his feet when he took that extra job at Quinn's; Jerry, who had grown closer to the lady vampire Jay always thought was a little creepy; Jerry's tombstone, and Jay's tears; Evie's fangs as she pinned Jay against his little Chevy. I could even pick up her words from his mind—"Sookie Stackhouse killed your brother! That bitch won't get away with killing my man! You better find her or I'll find you again!" She'd kept coming back, and poor Jay still bore the bruises, I realized. He didn't know why I'd killed his brother, or that I even had. He thought I was really weird (I agreed) and he'd heard, based on some enigmatic comments Quinn had dropped, that I was playing some kind of romantic game with Quinn and Eric (I disagreed). He even felt a bit sorry for Quinn, as Jay really did like working for E(E)E, and he even liked working with all of the non-scary Supes; he thought Quinn deserved better than both of us. (I wasn't too sure about that.) All-in-all, all he saw was a flighty woman who was playing his boss, not a murderess. Frankly, he wasn't sure that Jerry's own bad choices hadn't led to his death—but Jay was surely scared he was about to meet his brother again, thanks to Evie. Scared enough that he'd done research on where I lived, where I worked, when I worked, and had decided to end it all.

I found my voice. "I didn't do it, Jay." I shifted, just in case he was tracking me by voice. The room was too small to really hide, but I wasn't born just to stand there and be a target. "Evie's boss killed your brother, and I can prove it." I wasn't sure Crandle had confessed to that part yet, but I wasn't about to second-guess myself just then.

_Snick._ I heard a switch-blade, and my stomach fell further. "We don't have to do this, Jay." His brain was a steam engine, firing on fear, now. _Shitshitshithowtodoit—I don't even remember how we skinned squirrels on Grandpa's farm—Jerry would have been able to do this—but Jerry's dead—_

How fast would the others get here if I yelled now? How badly would I be stabbed by then? He might not have the best plan for murdering a person, but that didn't mean he couldn't do damage. "Do you think you will be safe after this? She'll kill you. My friends will find you. This is not the way." I crouched and backed up against a tight rack of paper products. Maybe if he tried to grab me I could pull the rack forward with me, on us. "Just drop the knife and walk out. I'll give you a minute head start—five, even. You can leave Merlotte's right now and nobody will come after you." Okay, so I was lying there, and even I knew I couldn't promise that.

"Your man will," Jay gulped in the darkness. Shit, guess even Jay saw that whopper coming a mile away. "Either way, I'm dead."

I tried not to react, either to my tension or the phone that kept buzzing against my thighs. "That's not true! I can protect you!" I grabbed for anybody he might trust. "Quinn will help, too!"

"Nobody can! Don't you see, it's done? You did it, when you killed Jerry!" He lunged, and through either luck (for him) or just a good sense of space, his hand landed on my wrist. "You and your man! And now we'll all die!" There went the technicolor slideshow in his head again, as he shook me—Jerry dead, me dead, Jay dead, and then Eric—

And then I was really kind of mad. Mad enough to do what Jason had taught me once, long, long ago, when I first got to drive Gran's car and Gran worried I might run into trouble out by myself at night. No, I couldn't use Jason's first rule of self defense ("kick him in the nuts!"), and I didn't have my keys on me, but my fingers flew to my apron, flew to grab the buzzing object there, and I did what Jason trained me. Hand wrapped around the hard phone, I hauled back and swung with all my power in the area where I guessed was my attacker's face.

"SONOFABITCH!" we both yelled, as with a distinctive crunch, my hand and phone smashed directly into Jay's nose. I also heard, to my relief, the clatter of the knife hitting the floor, then Jay crashing down—to find it? I don't know. I just know I felt his leg sweep by mine, and I knew just how he was squatting down, no doubt grabbing at either his nose or for the lost knife.

And I do know I applied Jason's first rule of self defense then.

"AUUUGHHHH, BITCH!"

I may have applied it twice.

And then I heard something wonderful-

"SOOKIE?"

"SOOKIE!"

—No, not my name, shouted by Terry and Sam, but footsteps, and then the door was opening, and then light was on, and then—

A wonderful crash, as Terry Bellefleur, screaming something that sounded like, "Got YOUR SIX!" and hurled himself on top of a significantly bloodied Jay.

"What the FUCK!" Sam was behind him, grabbing around both of them to haul me out of the room.

So that was my "calm" late afternoon. Sam dragged me off to his office, where I saw, in the phone clutched in my shaking hands, that not only did I have a slew of text messages, but I even had a voicemail from Eric. (He'd summoned up the energy to get straight to the point, too: "If you do not let me know WHAT THE FUCK is going on in the next five minutes, I am going to come to you, fucking sun or not.") I barely had time to text back an "I'm okay," before Sam shoved a drink in my hand. "Slow down, take a breath, Sook, we got this."

And I shrugged with a little laugh—after all, compared to a crazy maenad savaging your town, a nutcase with a knife wasn't much, right?

"I'm too used to insanity," I said. "Is that bad?" I typed out my update to Eric, so he wouldn't freak out. It took me several minutes of typing and typos, and annoying interruptions as he demanded more details, but I finally got the whole story into the little chat bubbles on the phone. Maybe that would sort him out?

"We will discuss this later." Nope. We'd hit freaking out stage.

I sighed. "Not worth getting worried about. It's over, nobody's hurt, he was alone," I typed back, and stowed the phone in my pocket.

"Will our lives ever be normal?" I looked over and asked Sam. I tried to imagine just going to church, the grocery, the library, without thinking about mysteries to be solved. It seemed very attractive, but still so—so—_small_.

"Normal's boring," Sam said stoutly, now working his own phone. It was a measure of Mindy's influence that I wasn't being subjected to another "vamps just get you in trouble" lecture from Sam, I realized. Or he'd finally figured out that I was the common denominator, not the vampires. Either way, I wasn't going to go looking in his head to find out. (Of course, he knew perfectly well I could do it, too—that's not the kind of thing you forget, unfortunately.)

Thankfully, the next few hours were pretty quiet—we marched back to the front as if nothing had happened (everybody, of course, was looking). I'd refused to sit in the back office (Sam's suggestion) or go home (which was my offer, if Sam wouldn't let me work—he refused it, and I had a bet it wasn't just due to his normal generosity). I just wanted to pick up on my shift before Arlene and Hollie were too swamped. It wasn't like I couldn't—to my surprise, I didn't even have major damage to my hand, and my phone was barely dented. (But then again, the phone at least was good quality. Maybe part of its expense was its utility for self-defense? Was that the "protection plan"? I snickered, exhausted, to myself.) Terry was sent to sit with Jay—Sam just shook my head when I asked if the cops had been called, and then I saw Alcide stroll purposefully into the bar and then into the back. He didn't say anything to me—just gave me a nod and a slightly funny look, probably still thinking of the Red Room incident, before he disappeared into the back.

"Uh-oh." Alcide wasn't a regular of Merlotte's.

Alcide was regularly in Eric's debt, though.

"Don't think about it," Sam told me across the counter. Alcide, I noted, was either taking the longest restroom break in history, or he wasn't coming back through the front of the bar. "I'm told that'll be _taken care of_." He tilted his head towards the back and gave me a look. I wanted to protest, but then I remembered what Jay would start talking about—Jerry, my doorstep, and all kinds of things that wouldn't be fun to explain to the Bon Temps law enforcement. I chewed on my lip before nodding. The vamps wouldn't kill Jay, at least that I thought—he'd probably be more use tracking Evie. And nothing could be done to him without Eric's permission, and I could have a word with him. Even if the last text I had from him was an ominous, "Worth it. I do not care for threats."

Well, anyway. I opted to take my own advice and put the worry to the side. I was okay despite that insanity, there was relatively little damage done this time—well, compared to exploding hotels, a few boxes knocked awry weren't much, you had to admit—and it was time to get to work.

My woolgathering was interrupted by Sam. "Oh, the church book club's here," he called over the bar. "Sook, can you give Mrs. Eidermaker this? She left her book here yesterday." I grabbed it—just a plain volume with a gray tie on the cover—and topped off a few glasses. We were now just pushing twilight outside, so the drinking hours were just really starting up.

"Your fan club's also here." Hollie's hip bumped me as she picked up a pitcher of water.

"They're not here for me!" I shot back and Hollie giggled. Ever since we'd come back from Vegas, let's just say Eric showed up a lot during my shifts. Not all the time—that pesky daylight problem, of course, and he had his own job, of course—but he did like to pop in, enough that even the most out-of-the-loop Bon Temps citizen had figured out the link. (It'd be hard to miss, given Mrs. Fortenberry had asked loudly if we were living in sin yet or not. I was really, really glad Eric hadn't been around when she'd asked that.) As a result, there'd been an unusual surge of folks in the bar at night, all asking if I were waiting tables that night or not. Right now, there was a pack of women at one table, all high-fiving because they'd spotted me.

They never asked me about him, though, as Sam had made it pretty clear he'd throw anybody out who harassed me or caused a scene. (And anybody who didn't order food or a beverage. Given the totals on the nights when the Area Five crew came to visit, I think Sam had suddenly started to respect the Fangtasia business model.)

I was taking the orders of the softball team when he arrived. I knew it even before I looked over, just by the tidal wave of feminine (and masculine) lust that swamped me. My eyes found him, filling up the doorway to the back hall. He hadn't yet seen me, but the stress in his jaw, a tell-tale sign of fangs behind his closed mouth, said it all—Eric was here, and Eric was not happy.

_Last thoughts: You're getting the next chapter quickly, and it's all Eric. In the meantime, thank you, as always, for sticking with me and sharing your thoughts. :K, as Eric would say.  
_


	84. Chapter 84

_AN: Okay, here's the second half, as promised. The finale (probably a single chapter) is en route, but will take a bit for me to churn out—maybe a week, although I'll try to be faster than that. _

_AN #2: I was asked about Sookie's promise to Eric (chapter 72-73), to say yes. No, he hasn't called in that promise yet.  
_

_Lastly, as always, thanks for your feedback! _

I was taking the orders of the softball team when he arrived. I knew it even before I looked over, just by the tidal wave of feminine (and masculine) lust that swamped me. My eyes found him, filling up the doorway to the back hall. He hadn't yet seen me, but the stress in his jaw, a tell-tale sign of fangs behind his closed mouth, said it all—Eric was here, and Eric was not happy.

For a long moment I couldn't move, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of thoughts that came flying at me.

—_I can't believe Sookie's got that. _

—_The Master is here! _

—_Amy's sure smiling at me. Didn't think she was excited about baseball, huh._

—_Shame they're all damned. Mighty pretty to be burning in hellfire forever. _

—_He's as gorgeous as they say._

—_Do you get taller when you become a vampire or is it just that one?_

—_I have to go see that vampire bar in Shreveport. I am so calling the girls this weekend. _

—_Sookie doesn't deserve that. _(That was Brandi Beckins, of course.)

—_Praise His Light._ (That was the pastor's wife.)

And on and on.

Even old Mrs. Eidermaker was now mentally casting Eric in the movie of her book. I was tempted to tell her he was fifty shades of _mine_, but it's rude to read people's thoughts, even if they are gawping at your boyfriend.

I glanced over at him. He had come from the hall to the back office, I realized—probably having a pow-wow with Sam, I figured. Whatever he'd been discussing with Sam hadn't made him happy; his face bore a harsh expression, and I knew I'd see fangs if he smiled, and not in that happy fangy way of his. But that tension melted away when our eyes met across the room. Then he began smirking, as if acknowledging the fuss he'd caused. As if on cue, the music pumped overhead shifted. There was an insidious beat, and then the singer wailed, _"I like the way you moooove," _just as Eric started to walk. I had not the slightest doubt he did that on purpose, but you had to admire the effect. Eric managed to make even walking look indecent, strolling slowly, rolling his shoulders just so, as he headed to me. PDA was off the table—we'd made a bit of a sensation the first night I worked after Vegas, when Eric just walked up to me, slid his big hand around the back of my head, and kissed me so thoroughly that I was sweating by the end, and not from the heat of late spring weather. (Of course, then he'd just nipped me on my nose and slid, quite smugly, in his seat, as if he hadn't just dazzled the stars out of me.) Someone had even videoed it on their cell phone and put it on YouTube, to my embarrassment, under the title, "Vampire Gets in Girl's Pants in 2 Seconds." Amelia, naturally, found it and showed me the user comments:

-"Where is THAT on the menu?" (xxHeartReadingxx)

-"All of the anti-vamp haters need to check this out. EQUALITY!" (LiberalLA)

-"Printer refills can be very expensive. To buy more ink, go t inkysales and save lots!" (InkySales)

—"Alpha as fuck" (redditor)

-"I approve of this video. Anyone who does not should die." (DiorChanelFang)

-"hotttt" (Hottie1989)

-"If he's that big, is he big all over?" (curious)

-_Comment flagged for inappropriate material_ (Vvamp69)

-"What'd they say that was so inappropriate? More than tonsil hockey in public, anyway? BTW, get it, girl!" (CatWitch)

-"thats my fuckin sister dickheads." (JasonStackhouse)

There were more, but I was too mortified to look further. Eric took mercy on me and placed a call, and the video disappeared from YouTube (at least; who knows who had downloaded it) before my reputation was entirely ruined.

After that debacle, I'd forbidden any big public displays of affection.

That didn't mean Eric played fair at all, of course. Even now, he seemed to be doing a lot more than just walking. He kept his eyes locked on me, making me acutely aware of just how short these Merlotte's shorts are—and then, at the last second, slid around me—not touching, of course, just close enough to wake up every cell of my skin—to sprawl "innocently" in a table across the way.

And by innocently, I mean I could feel his eyes analyzing the lines of my lingerie.

He'd showed no signs that this was an emergency, so I managed to finish up the table's orders. Well, before one of the church ladies cried out, "Jesus, Lord have mercy!" That's when I glanced over at him and saw he was beckoning me toward him with a significant curl of his fingers. It was a reminder of that first night in Fangtasia, when he'd summoned Bill and I to meet him. It was also, I knew, blushing, a gesture he used in, er, other ways, and he knew it quite well. _O_, very well, indeed.

I headed over to his table as soon as I could, before he could demonstrate any of his other skills.

I stood by the table, bumping his knee, currently splayed well apart from its counterpart, back with my own. (Why can't men sit with their knees together? Really.) "My shift won't be done for a while now. You're here early." I took out my notepad, even though True Bloods are pretty hard to screw up, just to give me a few more seconds at his table. "You don't have to wait, you know—you could go up to my house. I've got your movie there." I'd scored a used copy ("pre-viewed," the corner video store called it, as if we didn't know what that meant) of _Lord of the Rings_. It wasn't that new movie, _The Hobbit_, but he already had that, anyway. (I'd asked Pam and as she put it, "Of course he pre-ordered that shit. He won't turn it off here. Can't you do something? It's a damned sausage fest, every time I go into that office. And not even any damned eye-candy for me.")

"Mmmm, I am in no hurry," he said. He pretended to study the menu just like I pretended to prepare to write down his order. "Seems you have been making friends tonight, I hear."

That would be the source of his irritation, then. He'd been having a word with Sam. "Yes, I told you that." I spoke a little too tartly, I'll admit, but typing all that in correctly had been difficult. It almost made me feel for Bill, but he deserved a lot more than frustrations with a phone, I reminded myself.

That brought back my manners, and the vampire, absolutely not Bill, before me. "You look nice," I added impulsively, and he did. He was wearing a sweater I'd purchased on clearance at Dillard's. I hadn't really thought to buy Eric a lot of clothing before—his wardrobe choices are a little more pricey than I can afford, and Pam had made me promise to check in with her before buying him any clothing. ("You do not know how long it has taken me to get him to this point," she'd said, typing his measurements into my phone. "If I left him to his own devices, he'd still be wearing those shitty furs. I won't have my work undone." And here she shot me a pointed look, complete with a little display of fangs, just in case I intended to buy Eric an LSU sweatshirt like Jason had.)

But this sweater (black, so soft, with a nice V at the top, designed to be clingy in all the right ways) met Pam's approval, so here he was, wearing it. It was a little short on the arms, because Eric did have a big wing span, but he just pushed the sleeves up a little, and that made it all look even better. I allowed myself a little back-patting for a good choice. I may also have tugged a little at one of the sleeves, just to give myself an opportunity to do some patting in real life.

"Do I feel n—" I put my hand over his mouth before he could finish that one. He just smiled against my hand.

"Okay, that'll be one blood, coming up." I started to move away but I found my hand trapped in his. He was taking advantage of the moment to inspect the skin decidedly unmarked by my recent adventures. "I'm fine," I whispered quickly—not that anyone would really hear us over the din of music, pool balls, and conversation, but still.

He didn't react to the tugging of my hand. He just looked speculative, contemplating the oddly unbruised skin of my knuckles. "That you are indeed." He let me go then, still looking thoughtful, and I headed back to the kitchen.

True to his word, Eric didn't interfere with the rest of my shift. He played with his phone a bit, sipped the True Blood I'd put before him, and ignored most of the bar-goers. I spotted his eyes moving around, though, a bit too much for just curiosity. He's casing the place, I thought with an inner shiver.

"So you came to keep an eye on me?" I asked him as we were packing up for the night. (If Eric had been a normal boyfriend, I'd have had to kick him out of the bar for the final closing steps. That was proper procedure, after all. But one look at Eric and Sam just threw his hands up in the air and said, "Make yourself comfortable, Northman, since you're going to do it anyway.")

"What a nice view it is," he responded, following me to my car. Based on the feelings I was picking up from him, I don't think he was just appreciating my waitressing.

He stopped his "appreciation" when we got to my car. A brief argument ensued, as he hadn't driven over. This meant we could drive to my place, or fly. But I wasn't leaving my car in the lot, and Eric really, really hated driving in it. Worse—

"Give me the keys, woman." His hand was out, gaze stony. It was unspeakable indignity enough to drive my car, apparently; worse, to have to ride shotgun.

I could have let him drive, but I wasn't feeling up to dealing with his lead foot just then. "Mmm-hmmm, I don't think so. Move it, buster." I gave him a little tap on the butt, causing him to flash fang and growl at me, not unhappily. "You want to ride, you get in that side."

He smiled suddenly, his fangs fully apparent. "I'll remember those words later." That earned him another swat, but he did finally head to the passenger's side, where, with a lot of sighing and hissing, he finally got himself into the car. (Not without asking me why I didn't junk "this piece of shit," of course. If he didn't know I'd instantly guess what happened, I had a gut feeling my car would magically disappear from my driveway one night.)

Ignoring his griping, I steered us to my home. I'd been doing a lot of work on it lately, clearing out old things from the attic, and I'd talked to Alcide about coming by sometime and giving me a quote on clearing out a piece of yard next to the garage. Just in case an expansion, maybe a little carport, would be possible.

Because…you never know. Home improvements raise property value, I always heard.

When we got to the house, we decided to sit on the porch and chat. That was really my decision, though—Eric was all for moving to the part after chatting, but I knew it was better to try to get him to talk first. And better to keep him from any other ideas by keeping him far from the bedroom.

(Or far from the kitchen, in case Amelia left me one of her notes. She was out with Tray, and whenever she left the house, she usually wished me well with thoughts like, "Enjoy the rumpy pumpy!" Just tonight, she'd dropped me a line to remind me that she was going out, and that Pam had said Eric was coming over. So what do I find on my phone but "Hope you're ready to climb Bone Mountain! Hahahah!"? I deleted that one before Eric could see it.)

He'd joined me on the swing there, draping his arms across the back and Gran's old star quilt there. I slid my feet up on his legs, a move that earned me a half-smile and no comment.

Well, I've never been known for keeping my mouth shut. I grabbed the bull by the proverbial horns, pushing down with my feet a bit. "You're a bit quiet tonight."

He lifted a shoulder, regarding me. "What do you want to discuss?"

"Can we start with today?"

He'd started to run a finger up my shin. Drat, I'd forgotten I'd worn shorts. Really short shorts, I remembered, as his finger slid higher.

He flicked a glance up at me, and when I pushed his hand back, his face sobered and he turned fully to face me. "Very well, then. We have secured your little visitor today." I saw his fangs. He was not smiling.

I hugged my arms across my chest. "Not de—?"

"He should be." Eric snorted. "But he lives. He is an employee of the zoo creature, and so I cannot end him immediately."

"Immediately?"

"I would." The look on his face bore proof of that. "But I must ensure what he knows first, and if he is ended, if there will be war." Again I saw the fangs glint in the moonlight. "He is very lucky you were not injured. I would not be so generous, otherwise." One of his hands, resting on my knee, squeezed briefly. I slid my own hand over his.

"I told you he wasn't coming of his own mind, remember. This was just a freak thing, that's all. It's not like I will have crazy people in the stockroom every day."

He studied our hands, then his face turned to me again. "He came on another's behalf. I have my people looking for her. She will be ended, make no mistake of it." Given the set of his jaw, I sure wasn't likely to make that mistake. Now his head inclined to me, his face shifting meaningfully. "But in the meantime, we should discuss your…propensity…for attracting visitors." He paused, frowned, and finally growled, "I do not care for this, Sookie."

I knew right where he was heading. "I'm not leaving, Eric. We already had this discussion. I can't go running and hiding at the drop of a hat. This is my house." It was also felt a little—well, it stung my feminine pride a bit, this idea of "playing house" with your boyfriend just because he felt obligated to have you there. It wasn't like he was asking me to move in of his own volition, after all. It was one thing to spend the night (a lot), another thing to live there but not live there, really.

He made an irritated noise, low in his throat. "You do try me."

"I try."

He snorted again. "I anticipated as much." His eyes swept the yard again. "She is not near here now, nor has she been." From the glance of his eyes my way, I knew I'd have been in lock-down in Eric's house at that very minute, if he'd determined differently. "I knew as much before I came, but I wanted to ensure the shifter and the dog had scented correctly."

I had visions of Sam and Alcide running around with their noses to the ground, looking for whatever other vampires smelled like.

"Then I'm sorry super-scent isn't part of my curse," I mumbled, watching the still yard. "Maybe save you some headaches." It'd be better than imagining Sam and Alcide snuffling my home, anyway.

"Gift." Eric interrupted me. I could feel his gaze. "My gift."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He was trying to make me to look at him but I didn't want to be lectured on wording just then.

Instead, I babbled like the brook in the woods behind us. "Full moon tonight, huh? I guess the pack must be out. Is it automatic, the change, or can they stay hu—"

He made an impatient noise, still looking at me. "Sookie—"

Something glistened on the floor. "Oops, look at that." I climbed off the swing to grab it—a battered old green and gold compact.

"What is it?"

"Just some trash from when Hoyt and Jason moved some old furniture out today for me. Looks like someone's powder. Face powder." He looked momentarily blank. "Make-up, Eric! Jeez! And you've known Pam for how long?" I glanced at the object. If it were a nice hairbrush or something of quality, I'd consider keeping it for my drawer-top. But it was just a cheap piece of old plastic, impersonal and unnecessary, so I dropped it in the trash bag waiting to be carried out to the bin.

He laughed as I returned to his side, his hands swirling in my hair. "She has indeed taught me many things." His eyes slid over to me. "Still does."

"And I don't?" I attempted a pout. The flirting came a little too easily to me. Come to think of it, maybe Claude was right and we _were_ rubbing off on one another.

He was purring by my ear before I could stop him. "Mmmm, shall we role-play? I can be a naughty student if that's what you like." Cool fangs dragged against my neck, making me shiver. "We did have fun on this swing once, if memory serves."

"Not tonight, buddy."

He fell back with a grumble.

"Come on, let's go for a walk." Impulsively, I grabbed his hand, my other hand taking the old quilt off the porch. "I want to show you the back."

"Feel free to show me _everything_."

I glanced back, but he was giving me a choir boy's face. A choir boy who had plans to seduce one of the nuns, probably. "One of these days, you'll have to tell me how you make everything sound dirty."

"I have no idea what you mean." We both snickered at that, walking hand-in-hand to the back. I really did want to show him what I'd made in my garden. My green thumbs had worked overtime, apparently, as just about everything was in bloom. And that included all of the night flowers I'd planted a while ago, figuring the vamps in my life might enjoy seeing flowers that opened for the moon, not the sun.

"That's a kind of primrose, I read it online. And see that one? Kind of purple? That's a four o'clock. Only starts opening at four. But I guess that's obvious, right?" I waved with my free hand. We were sitting now on the blanket, facing the flowers, fingers lazily entwined over the blanket's pattern of moon and stars. You'd think we'd be cold but the night air was warm and soft, thick like a Sunday morning comforter, like the little world before my fireplace, once upon a time.

"We did not have flowers like that where I grew up," Eric mused. The moonlight made the gold of his hair shimmer. "They existed, but we did not make gardens like this. And the flowers-My mother liked another kind. A simple kind, easy to find." He frowned. "I do not know its name, but it reminds me a bit of the flowers you call bluebells." I glanced over at him, reminding myself to plant more bluebells. This was one of the things I loved best, just sitting here and talking, letting little pieces of ourselves come out. We could talk all night, about the smallest little things, and it didn't seem to matter, but oh, it did.

"I always did wonder where the lightning bugs go in the day," I mulled, letting my eyes follow a big one, flashing his way happily across the dark yard.

He laughed softly. "Do you want to know?"

"I already do." I smiled at him, white in the dark. "He's gone home to his family, I think. Back to his wife and their house." I paused, tilting my head. "Can't decide if they have a dog or a cat, too."

"Perhaps an ant would be better?" I could feel his amusement, warm as where our hands met.

"Being stepped on and killed by your pet would be pretty bad, I'll grant you. Okay, then, an ant." I sighed, let myself lean into Eric beside me. "Pretty night, though."

"Very." His hand tightened over my own. I reached over with my free one and rubbed his forearm idly. His face was turned up to the sky, searching the stars. "I have enjoyed few as much."

"Oh, you big liar," I murmured. He cast his face to me, the edges of his mouth curving gently up. He really did have a beautiful mouth, I decided. "With all you've seen, you think my backyard is all that?" It was magic to me, certainly, but if you've lived one thousand years, that's a lot of nights. Heck, Eric probably had even seen those fancy Northern Lights at one point.

"Yes." He wasn't joking, looking at me. "It is quite beautiful."

I wasn't sure where his mind had gone, so I poked him. Up went my favorite eyebrow. "Even I can think of an improvement, for pete's sake."

"What's that?"

"You still have clothes on," I answered flippantly. We definitely _were_ rubbing off on one another.

~tststststs~

There are times when I talk without thinking and it leads to doom.

There are also times when I talk without thinking and it might be a pretty good thing.

Eric grinned like the sun rising, eyebrows up, and rose. Before I could stop him, he took a few steps back, and yanked off his sweater in one smooth motion. "Better?" Naturally, he'd found a great spot of moonlight to model in, too.

Still looking at me, his hands opened his jeans and the pants dropped softly down. Last came the absurd bikini, recalling that very first time. This one was blue.

My favorite color.

I found my voice. "Best, definitely best."

And now it, too, was on the grass, and he'd toed off his shoes, so that he stood there in the moon-light, my own version of the David. He just smiled, spread his hands, and let me bask in the glow of his bare skin, the light shimmering on the light scruff of his beard at his hard jaw, all hard but for that little cleft I loved so much, the moonglow dancing on the golden hairs at the top of his chest, his arms, his legs, the beckoning between. I once thought he was the most beautiful and lethal thing I'd ever seen, I remembered.

I was right.

"Take what you want of me, lover," he murmured.

I should have been scandalized and dragged us both into the house. I should have thought about what decent folks did and did not do, and that included private acts for all to see.

But I didn't, because this was Eric, and this was our night. The yard was still, dark like a room just for us, the flowers scenting, Mr. Lightning Bug dancing, and even my garden at its peak.

So instead I rose, ran my hand down that spectacular chest, still steady and firm beneath my palms like they were, that very first time he held me. I drew my thumbs across the slanting grooves by his hips, hips that shifted tensely, reminding me of a racehorse vibrating before the gates flew open. I ran my hands back, savoring the sweet curves as his eyebrow lifted above me. And then I let my hand stray to the front, lower, to run my fingers through hair, to feel pure heat, hot and iron, throb against my exploring palm. I cupped him as best I could, easing upwards in a slow stroke. He started to sway into me, steady as the beat of my heart, the gasps of my breath.

"That's you, lover." His voice was night, husky and thick. "Yours."

And I looked up at him, already opening, his eyes dark, glinting under half-raised lids.

"I want you to love me, Eric Northman."

As if to tease me, he didn't move, just stood there, wanting me. _Courage_, he'd once said to me, and I made my own move. Off went the Merlotte's shirt, my shorts; the bra slid off me with a hiss from the Adam to my Eve, and the panties landed at his feet.

I could see his fangs, fully erect now.

"Done."

Quicker than a jack-flash, we were on the blanket, stars above, stars below. Eric's mouth was already at my heart, moving fast towards my nipple, but impulsively I shoved upwards. His chest, draping me in darkness, rose over us.

"Problem, lover?"

"I want on top."

I could see his grin in the dark, as he rolled us obligingly over. "My lover is greedy, I see." I sat astride him, running my hands over his abdomen, allowing the shimmering in my midsection, seemingly attached by some fiery cord to his, to guide us. "I like it," he all but purred, hips shifting up to remind me of his want.

"Greedy for this, maybe." I allowed myself soft kisses across his stomach, his pectorals, his collar bone. I nuzzled where the burning scar of our bonding was, laved it with my tongue, marked its twin with my teeth. "Love you," I barely whispered to it. "Love you always," I murmured, remembering the feel of his body and his cloak hiding us to the world.

I wanted to stay there.

He growled and I was thrown from my reverie as his hands seizing my hips and flew me forward, nestling over his face. Automatically, I scrambled forward to escape the spark of his beard on my thigh, clutching at the grass, but his firm fingers pinned me as he growled—and his nose bumped—and oh, there was his _tongue_—

"_Jesus!"_

The Lord didn't answer my call as I lunged forward, nails penetrating the moist, hot ground. Eric was lapping, and if he were a cat, so was I, alternately rearing away, arcing back, and wantonly undulating into his caress. I could barely see, and not for the dark—for the heavy scent of the flowers, unraveling before my eyes; for the weighted sway of my nipples, agonized for him, as I surged forward; the simmering soft and lava wet, below—for the motions long and slow, short and pointed, and then he _blew_—

"_Oh, God, yes—Eric-"_

—for a magic that was his.

The stars were climbing down to me, and he had me on my back, his rasped words, _"Fucking perfect," _throbbing in my ears, and there he went with that clever tongue again. I was crying his name, my hands caught in his hair, twisting painfully in the blanket, looking for those stars once more as I lifted and arced for him. I chanted his name, a prayer in this rite we were performing. And then, suddenly, my moon, his eyes, above me, shining, and my thigh met his forearm, lifting, as he joined me, a harsh sound of relief as we met, burned. His voice was rough as he said my name, met my words of love with his own, his hips on a slow but insistent march to claim me, as if he hadn't already. I was his, I yielded, but so did he—and I felt him roar within—and the stars above were glowing, pulsing inside me.

~tstststs-

We were heartbeats apart, side-by-side, just resting on those stars. I didn't know what to say, but I was in no rush. I turned to smile at him, but to my surprise, Eric wasn't as lethargic after his orgasm as I was. He had moved to lean over me. My world shrunk to him and the scent of flowers exploding around us. "Woman," he murmured in that voice, deep as oceans, looking down at me. His hand slid to my face suddenly, and another word came to his lips. "Wife." He looked almost surprised, blue eyes wide, new like those days when we first sat by the fire together. He studied my face as curiously as the first explorer studying one of those ancient tombs. I felt the pad of his thumb against my cheek, his eyes leaping across all of my facial features as if to map them on his mind.

His intensity was too much for me, so I tried to bring him back to our little bubble of bliss. "That's just your law, buddy." I stuck my tongue out playfully, rubbed his lower back encouragingly. His body, heavy against my thigh, trembled for me. "I'm a free player until I say so."

That did it, as his face shifted again, smiling in his halo of golden hair; sun, not moon, was upon us. "Duly noted, Miss Stackhouse." His eyebrow was up. "And I do like to _play_ with you." His fingers plucked at my nipple just as his hips pistoned upwards, and I gasped. He smiled, those sapphires sparkling, as he moved thick within me. "We've only just begun."

~tstststs~

It seemed hours, we rolled on that blanket, off that blanket, on again, our loving overheard only by the occasional cricket and distant frog, overseen by only the dancing lighting bugs. My fingers curled around a few stray blades of grass, crushed by the writhing of our bodies where we'd ignored the blanket. Hands, knees, belly, back had all met the ground tonight—he'd made sure I'd need a thorough shower after this. I didn't care a whit, luxuriating in the feeling of him everywhere in me. "I don't think I ever want to go inside," I murmured in one of our breaks, Eric curled up against my back, his body hard, his hands gentle. And why would I? I didn't even know how long we'd spent out here, loving, talking, resting, and yes, as Eric made me admit, blushing hot as his hand on me—even just plain fucking. (Eyes mirthful, he'd made me say it, too. But he rewarded me with his own kind of sweetness, so I didn't complain. My stomach shivered and clenched again at the memory.)

His lips—well, no, it was more his whole mouth, as I felt lip, tongue, fang, and teeth, were drifting over my neck and shoulder, making me shiver with each little kiss. I'd had my own turn with him—many times—tonight, making friends with that little birthmark I liked so well.

He liked it too, I found out quickly.

My jar of orgasms wouldn't be the only one overflowing lately.

"You would be a wonderful nudist, love," his murmur burning against my skin. His long arm shifted from my belly to tracing my inner thigh. "Spectacular."

I curled my fingers back in his hair, massaging his scalp as best I could. "Oh, might be a bit cold at times, though," I sighed, feeling his other hand curve around my breast. His finger splayed over my nipple and my heart lifted to the hand there. I smiled at the flowers across from us—all in bloom. Even the pretty four o'clocks had opened. Was making love magic?

"To the equator, then. We'll go there." He was smiling against my skin and I could feel my own smile, inside-out.

"Sounds nice, but wouldn't that be a bit sunny?" In one slow, lazy roll, I let him tilt us on our backs, lifting my leg a little as his fingers moved closer. In answer, I felt his fangs nip playfully at the back of my neck, as I laughed softly, feeling my body drape across him without resistance. His hand slid down from my breast, curving with the bareness of my belly. Indulgently, wantonly, I was open as the moon flowers across from us, waiting for his gently tracing hands to enter. I arched back bonelessly against his caress, smiling up against the stars in their own embrace of sky—purple and pink—and orange—and, _oh, Jesus—_

"The sun!"

~tststststs~

I was rolling and grabbing the blanket even as I shouted. Eric was even faster, of course—exclaiming a shocked curse, he grabbed blanket and me both and flew us into the house.

"You're okay, you're okay, you're okay," I babbled, as he practically ripped the door off his little cubby. The start of dawn hadn't slowed him; maybe it was his survival instinct kicking in, his age, or maybe it was because he hadn't already gone to rest, but he definitely wasn't so awfully sluggish as he'd been at Rhodes. I scanned him frantically. No sign of smoke, thank God, as best I could tell in those split-seconds, not even the parts that the blanket hadn't hidden on Eric. He jumped in the cubby, my hands shoving, and I could hear him laughing through the door.

I leaned back against it. My heartbeat was still racing like Eric's Corvette. It settled and paused. A weight was at my bare back, and I knew despite my screeches, Eric hadn't gone fully to ground yet. _Still_. He was daring the bleeds just to chat.

"Go to sleep before you give me a heart attack!" I exclaimed. (Maybe it wasn't quite technically correct to say he was going "to sleep," but it wasn't quite friendly to tell someone to "go die," either, I figured.)

The door pushed a little into my back and there was the warmth of the yard in me again.

"Sookie?" His voice was merry, warm, like when he'd been teasing me when we'd made love. My skin warmed. Our adrenaline rushes were making the bond go crazy. Now I knew why Eric was always so "up for action" after any kind of danger. Life went with death.

I looked down at the quilt of stars, dropped at my feet.

He was still in a prime mood. "That's a first, you know. Congratulate yourself. You fucked me into almost killing myself."

"Go to sleep!" I thumped the door behind my hand. He laughed and the door shook against my back.

"I would rather meet my end between your thighs than anywhere else, you know."

Frustrated, I smacked the door again. "Go to bed!"

He laughed once more, a laugh that reminded me of the hand that had slid gently over my belly. "Oh, lover, I will. I most definitely will."

~tstststs~


	85. Chapter 85

_AN: Still not quite done, just so you don't think this chapter is "it." We had to wrap up a few points that I'd forgotten were outstanding from earlier in the story, and set the stage for the last sequence. So you get this chapter and then another (small) chapter that I'm going to upload in a couple of minutes (I hope). After chapters 85 (this) and 86 (about to be uploaded), I'll get to work on delivering the last sequence. (Which should be just one chapter, but so was this one meant to be!) As always, thank you for all of your comments, and I greatly appreciate all that you have to say!_

I looked down at the quilt of stars, dropped at my feet.

He was still in a prime mood. "That's a first, you know. Congratulate yourself. You fucked me into almost killing myself."

"Go to sleep!" I thumped the door behind my hand. He laughed and the door shook against my back.

"I would rather meet my end between your thighs than anywhere else, you know."

Frustrated, I smacked the door again. "Go to bed!"

He laughed once more, a laugh that reminded me of the hand that had slid gently over my belly. "Oh, lover, I will. I most definitely will."

~tstststs~

It had barely turned dark and I was lead-footing it to Shreveport

Well, lead-footing it as much as I dared. Eric had left the Batmobile at my house (again), so I was returning it to him. For some reason, he tended to "forget" the Batmobile at my place (complete with "forgetting" the keys right next to my purse) just before a night when he knew I'd be coming to visit him I'd have been offended on behalf of my own little yellow car, but, well, I had to admit this one was fun to drive.

It had been a while since I'd last been to Fangtasia, no matter what car I was in. The last time was—I searched my mind—yes, the day after Eric and I almost met the sun. Through non-stop text messages that day, he'd assured me he was fine, as best he could tell in the darkness of his cubby. (That's what I interpreted "Feel me all over and see, dear one" to mean, anyway.)

And to be truthful, the clear energy he had for texting should have reassured me somewhat; he'd even managed to leave me a little voicemail, purring a simple, "Hello, lover," in one of his "up" episodes.

(Based on the tenor of his voice, he was very "up," I gathered.)

But it was still too strange. I'd seen first-hand what happened to a vampire who saw the sun, and it wasn't laughter behind a shaking wooden door. The TV shows on in the morning—including a graphic depiction of a vampire suicide—didn't reassure me one bit. The soap opera Arlene had on at work was even worse, as Stefano had recently become a vampire on "Days of Our Lives," and it seems he'd met a tragic, if sunny, end. (Yet again. The writers of that show had been one of the first to feature a vampire storyline, using the news of the Great Revelation to explain Stefano's long history of death and return.)

The topic of the sun, and what it meant to vampires, gnawed at me relentlessly. I even looked online, and what a mistake _that _was. Naturally, the first search I had for such things drew up the most horrifying images and stories, and while they were all ghastly, they were all linked by a basic idea—any vampire who met the sun was not going to be happy about the outcome. You didn't just sneak off under a blanket that didn't fit you, no matter how fast you moved. Somehow, some way, you were hurt.

(Arlene even noticed what I was searching on my phone. "Now that's an idea! Need help, sugar?" She cut a glance around us and lowered her voice. "But maybe don't fry the one with those nice pants, you remember?")

It all left me in such a tizzy that I'd hoped to be able to sneak out of work early to see Eric when he got up, just for my own peace of mind. I managed to get off somewhat early, when the sky was just shifting into a darker lavender. To my surprise, by the time I got to the house, Eric was already gone. I had visions of him, scarred by a newly developed sunburn, skin peeling off and in pain, fleeing from my view. Maybe he had awful wounds and had gone off to tend them, and just didn't want to worry me? Sophie Anne had gone off to Lord-knows-where to drink blood and regenerate her missing parts, I remembered. Did vampires just up and bolt when they were hurt, like a sick animal going to ground? Could they even admit they were really hurt? Maybe Eric was hiding the worst from me, unable to say just how bad it was. He hadn't had any blood from me after he was hurt, and he had promised not to drink from anybody else—and True Blood just didn't cut it as a quick-healing agent—

Admittedly, I panicked. Maybe it was PMS, or maybe just sheer worry, but I'd had it.

He was sitting at his desk in Fangtasia when I burst into his office. For once in his life, I'd clearly caught him by surprise, as he blinked at me.

"Take your clothes off." Okay, make that two times.

Before I could rethink my words or the implications of Eric's eyebrows meeting his hairline, he acted. And being Eric—well, he definitely acted. In one smooth move, he had jerked down his pants to the knee, landed back on his seat, spun the chair toward the side of the desk, and pointed at the significant welcoming party there. "Very well, climb on."

"What?" I blinked at his hand, which had begun to prime the pump, shall we say.

"I am ready, come on."

"No!"

He looked startled again, rose, and swept the blotter off his desk. His big hand patted the spot there. "Seated or bent over, then?"

"What—what—no! I'm not here for _sex!_" The last word came out in a hissed whisper as I glanced over my shoulder. It's not like all of Fangtasia didn't know what was going on between us, but still. I had some decorum!

Flustered, I waved my hands at him. He cocked his head at me, and his hand—"I mean—I mean—stop that! Stop doing _that!_—Now, take your shirt off! No, leave your pants off!"

That was how Eric let me examine him for signs of skin burns. Granted, he was completely confused at first about what I was doing. ("If you want to play, lover, may I suggest a theme? Are you the nurse? Because I have a sudden swelling—") But he eventually settled down and let me go over him closely. Not without protest, of course—"This is unnecessary, lover, but if it pleases you, fine." I just ignored him and concentrated on the evidence at hand. I knew he'd heal fast, but still, based on the amount of sunlight we should have felt at dawn, there should have been some signs of damage, no matter what he said.

For his own part, Eric didn't care in the slightest about the possibility of burns, or even why he hadn't burned more. He just said, "I'm fine, Sookie," and kept suggesting how happy he was to make his body available for my inspection. He hummed a bit, patiently, as I slid my hands over him, expecting every crease and crevice.

"I still can't believe you don't have any burns," I told him.

"I said I was fine. Am I not?" He wasn't talking about skin, I knew. Not that way, anyway.

"This is bizarre. It's like any other day. I don't get it—you didn't take enough of my blood to defend against the sun, did you?" I frowned and patted down his lower back. "I can't believe this."

My worry was met with a huffed sigh. "I can't believe we are wasting this opportunity," he grumbled over his shoulder, and the muscles beneath my hands tightened temptingly. "At least tell me I will get a happy ending."

I was so caught up in analyzing his skin that I didn't bother swatting him—I just ignored everything but the cells, smooth as a newborn's, beneath my finger-tips. I was so lost to the world that I barely registered Eric's advances, or anything else. Like how I'd forgotten to lock the door.

That's how, as I was bent over Eric's glorious rump, examining the skin there for anything problematic, Pam found us. The door flopped open, and there she was, and there were we—Eric, doing his best impersonation of an X-rated Vitruvian man (definitely three dimensional), patiently awaiting the end of my inspection, and yours truly, hands fitted around his southern cheeks.

"The sun doesn't shine out of his ass, no matter what he tells you, Sookie," Pam assured me.

I'm not sure what I said—maybe, "Eep!"—but I shoved my hands toward Eric's front, cupping him as best as possible, as if to protect his nonexistent modesty. That just caused us a bigger problem. Well, me, anyway—Eric certainly enjoyed the moment.

I sighed and glanced down at the phone in the cupholder next to me. That was the last time I'd been to Fangtasia, yes. Not long after that, something had changed. Maybe I was just being paranoid, but it seemed like Eric, for whatever reason, wanted to keep me out of Fangtasia. He didn't want to keep me away from himself, no—we talked all day via texts and even, now, a lot of little voice messages from his end. At night, we met at his place, my place, Merlotte's—but it seemed there were all kinds of "reasons" to keep me from driving to that strip mall in Shreveport.

The reason, I knew in my gut, had to do with Eric. I couldn't tell what he was thinking and for once, I found that supremely annoying. He watched me more than he normally did, and when we loved—well, he just seemed a little more urgent than normal. (Being with Eric is a bit like being with a tornado, anyway—you expect a high level of energy. But still.) I had caught him hissing at Pam into the phone more than once, but all I could make of their conversation was a very irritated, _"Enough."_

Something was obviously going on under that golden mop. I did my best to crack that nut—I tried cuddling him, I tried rubbing his shoulders and his head in an effort to relax him, but nope. The minute I suggested I thought he was acting weird, he either tried to get us in bed or he was out the door, saying there was something that he absolutely needed to do at Fangtasia.

I even resorted to calling Pam. She may have her vault, but when it comes to Eric having a problem, she's normally not a very good secret keeper. (It's a good thing Eric, as a vamp, didn't suffer headaches, or she'd be on my doorstep ordering me to fix it or die.) She too was acting a bit weird, as she wouldn't pick up the phone at all. I had to finally leave a message threatening to burn some of the clothing she'd purchased for Eric's house before she called back.

"I am supposed to be busy and I am not to be talking," she grumbled. It was a rush time at Fangtasia, I gathered. "You will not tell my master we spoke, or he will have my ass. But I cannot let Dior go to waste."

So I filled her in. To my surprise, she wasn't entirely sympathetic. (To Eric, that is. Pam may have allowed me to follow her on that Pinterest site, but I had no doubt who was her first priority.)

"He's a fucking man, what do you expect?" she snorted. "Dear Abby says men are unable to communicate." She growled. "Or make a fucking commit-" Abruptly, she filled my ear with a vicious oath. "Fuck! My polish has chipped! What the fuck!"

"I'm real sorry about that, Pam, but about Er—"

She apparently didn't hear me. "It was my last fucking bottle, too! Do you know hard it is to get Chanel in this godforsaken swamphole? It would probably take a few centuries to fucking get here."

I imagine any packages to Fangtasia would get there faster if they weren't terrified of the woman signing off on them at the door, but I opted not to say that. "I'm sure there's a real bad problem, but Eri—"

"It is my last bottle of god-damned Vamp, the original. It was glorious. We were made for one another. It took so long for me to find it. You know how that is. I would have let you put it on your nails, if you had a decent manicure. No offense, dear Sookie."

It was on the tip of my tongue to point out my manicure suffered chips while working, but I decided I liked my tongue. "None taken, of course. But Eri—"

"I will have to go and look at my stock. GINGER! FUCK! Why didn't I bring her home to clean tonight?" She growled and I could hear her stomping across a room. "Fucking help, what do you expect."

"Nothing, because they are not being paid to help you?" (I couldn't help myself.)

"How droll you are, darling Sookie."

"But, really, Pam, could we please talk about Eri—"

"I also have the re-release, although it is not as fucking glorious as the original, and Metallic Vamp, because that goes so well with other outfits, and Very Vamp, too—seventeen bottles—but Eric has promised he's bought up all the originals to be had on eBay." If I thought Pam was going to give me a second to interject again, I was wrong. Was she on some kind of vampire caffeine? Had she had some blood from a person drinking one of those energy drinks? "He likes to think ahead and be prepared for all outcomes, although sometimes it is a major pain in my ass. He can be most obnoxious that way. Stalling, stalling, stalling. 'What if it means war? It must be discussed. It is not the time.' It is fucking ridiculous. You will not be telling him I said that. I need him to keep looking on eBay for me. Even if it is taking fucking forever." She sighed. "Sometimes, a woman must get things done. A lady must put her boot up people's asses sometimes."

"Yes, but could we please talk about—"

"He looks at that site regularly, you know, for all of the shit in his office. He's very handy with shopping anywhere when he needs to be, you know. I have taught him how to purchase quality things." She paused significantly, as if I should be very impressed by Eric's ability to use his wallet. I sighed. Knowing Pam, I'd probably be expected to applaud Eric for tying his shoes.

"Yes, but I don't understand—"

She sighed, too, suddenly irritated. "Of course. I told him he could put one of his god-damn trolls or whatever they are on the bar, if he would find more of the old stock of the original Vamp—it is _so_ hard to get, and nothing beats the original—if I had to wear one shade forever, that would be the one. Although I do enjoy variety, personally. Not all do. They just want one. But at least I go for quality. It is so important, don't you think, dear Sookie?"

Pam's monologue was beginning to remind me that not only do vampires not need to breathe, but they're perfectly happy to show off that skill. I finally did the inexcusable, and resorted to an interruption.

"PAM! Could we please just talk about Eric?"

"What about my master?" The pause was no greater than a blink, and then she was on again: "He may be a forefather of Christian Dior, you know—I read on that ancestry website that the Diors might have come from Vikings, you know. I cannot tell him this, or he will laugh his ass off at me. I have always said I came from decent breathers who knew how to bathe, at least, even if they were extraordinarily boring, unlike his, and don't let him tell you about that fucking chieftain shit. If you smell like you rolled in shit, you are hardly noble, no matter what kind of royalty you marry into, wouldn't you—"

"PAM! Do I have to ask Eric what's going on with you, too?"

I finally got a distinctly sullen huff. "With me? But I have just chipped my nail. I am sure he can feel my pain," she added sulkily. "And he is perfectly aware of my status." She growled. "I am not able to speak about yours." It didn't take vampire hearing to catch the little mutter she finished with: "_even if his head is clearly up his ass." _

"But why won't he just talk to me? Do you know?"

"I have no fucking idea and why the fuck would I tell you if I did? I am not to be talking, he has said. Are you planning on screwing over my master?"

"What? No!"

So Eric was not the only defensive one. But Pam at least had a reason. Which, for once that night, she said succinctly (and sourly).

"If you two fuck up my boyfriend/girlfriend party, I will fuck you both up." And then she hung up on me.

(I'd have taken offense, but other than Eric, I'm not sure there was a vampire that knew how to say goodbye properly over the phone. And while Eric did it, he did it in a terribly inappropriate tone, so I'm not sure even he counted.)

I sighed, recalling her words. Pam was obsessed with this party, no matter how much I didn't want it. I had no back-up in this: When I complained to Eric, he suddenly seemed absorbed in whatever work he was doing. That famous vamp hearing? Gone deaf. All I could get from him was a "Mmm-hmmm" and no more.

He could face down any number of supernatural monsters, but telling Pam not to throw a party wasn't on the list of battles he could win, apparently.

Maybe that was what was making him weird, come to think of it. I mulled this over as I tapped the steering wheel and sang along to the latest tune on the radio. (It celebrated thrift-store shopping. While that was my anthem, I had a feeling playing this for Pam would not get the same reaction. Maybe Eric and I could change her ring-tone?)

I drove further into the night, bearing down on Fangtasia. Neither Pam nor Eric knew I was coming (poppin' tags or not). I'd traded hours with Arlene and managed to get out of Bon Temps early enough to meet Eric at Fangtasia, not his house, as we'd planned.

I glanced down at the bag on the passenger's seat. This was my excuse for the unannounced visit—I was just "too excited" to share my present with him. It wasn't much, just a used copy of this fantasy book, _Game of Thrones_. Jason had been complaining that Merlotte's didn't have those pricey cable channels, and he'd finally explained why; he'd seen some show that was all "killing and fucking swords and naked chicks and shit," and he loved it. (Not enough to pay for cable, of course, which is why he'd started asking me about why I didn't spring for cable or fancy TV channels, as if he didn't know better. That led to him trailing around my house, giving his best to change my mind. "But Sook, Hoyt ain't got it—he can only watch it on his computer, 'cause he can't be watchin' that with his momma—and what's a man to do, Sook? You'd like it, I bet, 'cause the hot chick has got fuckin' baby dragons, and they fuck shit up like you never saw. You like dragons, don't you, Sook? Aren't they educational, like that fuckin' Harry Potter shit?")

At any rate, Jason's description of the finer features of the program sounded pretty similar to what constituted fine viewing to Eric, so I passed on the tip. Now Eric was just as enthused (whether most for the swords, female bodies, violence, or dragons, I wasn't sure), and Jason had even come to Fangtasia a few times, since the bar was suddenly a subscriber to that fancy TV channel. The show was even played on the main floor's TVs, but not because of Eric. After seeing the abundant nudity on the show, Pam decided she was a big fan of fantasy, too, and she demanded silence when the show was on. (The only other silence Fangtasia knew was when Eric allowed Pam to play the newest Oprah's Favorite Things episode every year—Pam nearly took out a fangbanger when the person spoke over Oprah's voice.)

I reached over and caught the bag as it slid a bit in the seat. Now this book was my ticket to Fangtasia. I slid into the parking lot, finding my spot easily. (Pam had wanted to order a sign for me—"MASTER'S MISTRESS"—but she decided, to my relief, that my car would be keyed if I parked there. So instead I got the single, "VMP GUEST," spot.)

I headed into the front of the bar first. Felicia, looking nervous, let me pass by the door without incident. (Well, so long as the irritated thoughts of the people waiting to get in didn't count as an incident.) The fangbangers were the same as always, thinking about all the same things they normally did—sex, death, and more sex. A bunch of them were admiring new merchandise in the gift shop, which now included smartphone covers based on the Vamps of Fangtasia calendar. (Eric had sent me the one based on him—he was seen stretching across the back of your phone, holding a white, deliciously gauzy sheet just low enough that you could see where hair began on the lower part of his belly. If you could tear your eyes from trying to make sense of the very interesting shadowing behind the sheet, you'd see words printed alongside: "Touch screen? TOUCH ME. Only at Fangtasia, 444 Industrial Drive, Shreveport, LA, 71106.")

He'd also designed a tablet cover and a matching wallpaper design. I knew this, as he'd shown it to me quite proudly. The cover was Eric, covered in furs and polishing a word. Then you opened the cover and you saw the tablet's wallpaper—Eric, quite_ uncovered_ and polishing another sword.

(That never made it into final production, thanks to my objections, but it did stay on the tablet left in Eric's house for my use. I am sure I don't know why.)

I glanced around the main floor. Everything looked normal—well, for Fangtasia, that is—although the music was odd, as it was currently a Beatles song blasting, with Paul and John advising the world that "she" loved us, yeah, yeah, yeah. Maybe it was a theme night? I bopped along and accepted the gin and tonic Indira hastily handed to me.

A glisten of leather caught my eye to my right. "Why, if it isn't Miss Sunshine."

"Nice to see you, too, Pam."

"Mmm, yes. Very nice." I refused to be cowed by her once-over, as if my yellow sundress was as skimpy as anything the fangbangers were wearing/barely wearing. "My master will be delighted you are here. With me." She smiled smugly.

_Uh-oh_. I was starting to rethink my plan when Pam's leather-gloved arm slid through mine. "Let's go see what he is doing, shall we? He will be _so _delighted I have found you." She made a motion and suddenly the beat of the bar's music shifted.

"_When a maaaaan loooves a woman…."_

I must have stopped but Pam just smirked, her fangs poking out daintily over her lip. She waved a small device in her hand. "I was growing bored with the stupid shit we play, so I purchased a remote. See?"

"_I know something about love, you've gotta want it bad, if that guy's got into your blood, go out and tell him—"_

Her perfectly arched eyebrow was clearly awaiting a response, so I managed, "How nice, although I am not sure that's the bar's kind of tune?" Then again, my ears told me that singer was now advising us what to do if a guy "got into our blood," so maybe it was proper for a vampire bar. (Even if the patrons looked a little restless, as a fifties pop beat isn't really what you expect in a place that featured writhing leather-clad dancers.)

"Maybe." Pam cocked her head and pushed another button. A mournful rock ballad came on and the bar settled down again.

We entered into Eric's office just as the music shifted again.

"_I've been waiting, for a girl like you—"_

Eric didn't glance up when we walked in. He was frowning at a white bag on his desk, looking away from the door. Growling, too, I noticed.

"Pam, if you are back to fucking na—Sookie!" I guess he'd finally caught a whiff of Eau d'Fairy, or my gin-and-tonic, because his head jerked up. His hands jerked forward, too—shoving the white bag in his desk.

"So it is, Master. Isn't she just a vision?" From her smile, Pam definitely ate the canary, and the whole pet shop too.

Eric flashed her a look that had a different kind of heat from what he was sending towards me. "Enough." Pam just gave me a little grin that reminded me far too much like that serial killer from the TV show, and exited. She must have been in a dance mood, because suddenly, that new Justin Timblerlake song came on. I knew it real well, because Tara had burned me a copy of his album the second it came out. We may have attempted a little dance number right in her living room, just like the old days.

"_It's like you're my mirror…" _

I couldn't help myself—it _was_ JT, after all, and my first kiss, if you counted a doll—so I started humming along. I may even have started singing (I blame the gin-and-tonic). "_My mirror, staring back at me, staring back at me—"_

I'd like to think it wasn't my bad vocals (I'd never done too well in church choir, let's just say), because Eric gaped at me. Then he threw himself at the door, nearly wrenching it off its doorway.

"FUCKING ENOUGH ALREADY, PAMELA!"

Eric threw himself back into his chair, just as the overhead suddenly began telling us about Axl Rose's sweet child.

"Well, that's a little more typical," I offered, if only to break Eric's mood.

He grunted, avoiding my eyes. "Too typical."

Because he looked so stressed, I decided to put my stuff on the desk, walk around it, and take a seat on his lap. (This always tended to perk him up significantly. I wasn't wrong this time, either.)

"My night's looking up, I see," he murmured. "You should have done this the last time you visited me. That offer's still on the table, you know." He shifted beneath me. "Or on the chair."

"Mmmm, not going to happen, Mister One Track Mind." I patted down the edge of his jacket and waved at the desk.

"So, you've been buying supplies tonight?" His look was quizzical, so I waved to the desk in front of us. "The stuff you were putting in your desk before, when I came in? Did you have to go on another Costco run tonight or something?"

My hand was right against his pectoral muscle—just for balance, mind you—so I definitely felt the tension snap up beneath my palm. "Oh, that?" He glanced rapidly around the room, and then back at me. "Toys."

"Oh, you got a new one of your little guys?" I saw his mouth firm up, so I corrected myself before he could. "Sorry, I mean, the _collectible figurines_." I looked over my shoulder to survey the ones by his computer monitor—nope, didn't appear we had any new members to the fellowship down there.

"No." Eric was apparently still miffed at my choice of wording. He glanced back at me, and mischief had returned to his eyes. "_Toys_." Now his leer definitely clarified his meaning.

"You did not! Shh!" I clapped my hand over his mouth automatically, as if that would somehow clean up his language, or the words in the naughty blue gaze behind my hand. He just laughed, his hands tightening around my waist when I attempted to jump away.

My hand had dropped from his lips. "Nothing you won't like, lover, I promise."

"We are not having this conversation here!" I glanced around frantically, as if Pam might jump in waving a whip. Or Lord knows, chains. Handcuffs? I shuddered.

The chair shook with Eric's laughter. I started to look over for the book on the desk, if only to take his mind off _that_ subject. Until, that is, my eyes fell on a business card propped up on the clock on Eric's desk. _Niall Brigant_, it read in scrolling golden letters, followed by a series of numbers I knew well. It was a number Eric had once told me never to call.

"Why do you have my great-grandfather's business card?" I reached out instinctively to pick it up, but the chair suddenly spun around, moving us to face the back of the office.

"I have always had it," Eric said shortly. If he was irritated, I didn't know, because he had suddenly decided to make very nice with my neck.

"Oh! But why—"

"Just cleaning my wallet," he growled, his hands reminding me that being anywhere near Eric when you didn't intend to behave inappropriately was a very, very bad idea. Kind of like sending Tara, when she was trying to reduce calories, anywhere near Terry's cherry pie.

"Can't help it. That shit's like crack," she had exclaimed to me, as she dove into the dessert.

I could feel for Tara, as I whimpered beneath Eric's hands. The skin of my neck was stinging pleasantly from brushes with his beard, like little heated fireworks everywhere he was kissing. But then, abruptly, unpleasantly, his mouth twisted off my neck.

"I am going to fucking stake her." My hormones had gone a bit awry, thanks to Eric's attentions, so it took a second for me to register his obvious irritation. He spun us back towards the desk, shoving some papers aside as he reached over and punched a button on his phone.

"Master?" It was Felicia, sounding a bit hesitant.

"Get that fucking remote from Pamela and destroy it," he hissed. "Tell her it is a fucking order." He punched the button again, abruptly cutting off the line. His eyes were closed as he thumped his head back against his chair. "I never should have let her buy that fucking thing."

I could hear the source of Eric's displeasure now. "What's so bad about Beyoncé? I bet everybody out there knows the dance, anyway. So what if it is silly?"

"It isn't that," he grunted. The overhead music changed again, this time one of the random generic techno beats I associated with Fangtasia. Eric grunted again, presumably satisfied by the change.

"So? What is it?"

Eric's eyes had opened to look at me when the door rocketed open, Pam stomping in as hard as she could in her glossy leather boots. And then the most interesting conversation occurred—well, it seemed to me to be interesting, even though nobody really said anything. Well, actually, Eric did at first—he hissed, "_Not a word_," and then there were no words. Pam, hands on hips, glared at Eric, her face muscles working like she'd really like to give him a piece of her mind but couldn't find the words. Eric, meanwhile, glared back threateningly, his eyes icy slits. If he'd been a cat, he'd have been arching his back and hissing.

Thankfully, the little stand-off didn't escalate like the catfights behind (or in) Merlotte's did, as Pam just stamped her foot again in frustration.

"Sookie," she snapped, and Eric froze entirely beneath me. "I hope he gets his head out of his ass soon." And then she stomped out, slamming the door with enough force that it bounced against the doorframe.

Eric seemed to relax beneath me.

"That went well, I guess?"

He snorted. "If it gets her off my back a moment, I will accept the tantrums."

He still seemed a little grouchy, so I decided to redirect his attention from Pam. "So what's up today? Any news from Felipe?"

Eric tapped a paper on the newly ruffled desk. The business card was already gone, I noticed. "I spoke with him today. We have no problems there. We also have taken in a few more of Victor's employees—a vampire from Dallas who helped arrange the were attack and a woman who was used to scout out the Area. She apparently even spoke to your brother at one point to get information." Eric made eye contact with me and I knew what "speaking to my brother" meant.

It'd be a miracle if he even knew her name.

"So it seems we are well ahead of such matters. Shall we go home? It is not necessary that I stay." Before I could respond, Eric had already reached over to hit the shut-down button on his computer, then he pressed a button on his phone. He handed me my gin-and-tonic as he sat back.

"Master." Pam's voice could have chipped diamonds. "Or am I not allowed to say that, too?"

Eric ignored her. "Any calls of note should be forward to me at once." He glanced over at me, probably making sure I wasn't about to drop my glass as I leaned over to put it on his desk. Or just checking out my boobs. With Eric, you never knew. "I don't believe I will have any other visitors tonight."

"Fine." She hung up.

"I don't know what-all's going on between you two, but whenever you break down and apologize, she needs some nail polish she likes."

"Duly noted." Eric was throwing around some papers on his desk. He was even locking up his desk drawers. I did throw me a little—were times so hard that somebody would actually try to swipe items from a vampire's desk?

"So that's all that's been going on?"

"Mmmm…." Eric was already flipping through the book I'd put on his desk. "I do love presents." He glanced over at me. "You know what else I like?"

"What?"

"Unwrapping them."

And before I could speak, he was carrying me out of the bar, off to home.

~tststststs~


	86. Chapter 86

_AN: Just a tiny little piece as I go back to my writing bunker to prepare the last chapter (or chapters, since goodness knows if I'll write a ton again) with the last scenes. _

"So that's all that's been going on?"

"Mmmm…." Eric was already flipping through the book I'd put on his desk. "I do love presents." He glanced over at me. "You know what else I like?"

"What?"

"Unwrapping them."

And before I could speak, he was carrying me out of the bar, off to home.

~tststststs~

The sun was high as I stretched out, book in hand. It'd been a long morning and early afternoon, and I'd earned a break. I still hadn't sorted out what was up with Eric—he'd done his best to keep us from speaking the other night, and when Eric does his best—well, it was a wonder I could walk, let alone speak, after that.

I had turned to physical labor to work off my lingering anxiety. Back in Bon Temps, I had scrubbed down my whole house, done a load of laundry, sorted out a few of Eric's items that he'd left over here, washed the Batmobile, and I'd even done some baking. (I'd made some of Gran's chunky chocolate cookies and I was really proud of them. I'd bagged up a bunch for Sam and Terry, given cookies weren't typically on order at Merlotte's, and I'd succumbed to the inevitable and put aside a plastic container of cookies for Jason. At least my waistline wouldn't expand too much, I figured. I'd told Eric all about this through messages, but he was all in favor of enjoying a bit of sin, of course. He'd offered his cardio training services if I needed them: "I enjoy working hard. Need demonstration? Will send photo. :K " And he did. I'd had to go turn on the fan after that one.)

"Child," said a male voice, and I nearly spilled my lemonade on myself and the person suddenly standing next to me.

That would have been a disaster, as my visitor definitely had a lemon phobia.

"Great-Grandfather," I gulped.

He was, indeed, my great-grandfather. I'd tried to call him "Great-Grandpa" once, and he'd winced so obviously that I'd resorted to the more formal form. Neither quite captured him, as he leaned down and brushed a kiss against my cheek—a kiss that touched me as lightly as the softest summer breeze.

I hadn't seen him in ages—well, ages at my rate, anyway. Standing there in a perfectly pressed summer suit, Niall wasn't exactly Mr. Friendly, and I had always felt somewhat relieved about that. He wasn't the kind of relative you could invite over for Thanksgiving. (Although I had made him the offer once, just because that's what family does.) He was a fairy, and a big deal at that, Eric had always said. Eric had also said he was the most dangerous fairy, too, the one who should be taken out first in any kind of conflict between vampires and fairies—the kind of comment both Eric and Niall probably thought was a high compliment, but just creeped me out.

Grandparents are supposed to give cookies and build toy trains and dollhouses for kids. You're not supposed to think about them as the best of killers.

I fixed on my smile despite those thoughts. "Can I offer you a drink?" I gestured back at the house, given Niall's slightly repulsed look at my lemonade.

"No, thank you, I am well." He turned from me and walked—no, he nearly glided—across the yard.

Well, that was supernatural manners for you. I sighed and followed him.

"It's so nice of you to visit—I'm glad to see you."

"I was called to a meeting elsewhere." He was quiet. I told you, Mr. Friendly. I waited expectantly for more.

He didn't seem to be ready to speak, as he stood there, contemplating the closed four-o-clocks. I found myself attempting to fill the silence: "The flowers are coming along real well, but I suppose you must see better ones." Niall had never really told me, but I couldn't imagine the world of the Fae didn't have wonderful flowers. I might have to tolerate the idea that some fairies were killers, but I wouldn't accept a flowerless fairyland.

After all, what else could explain Claudine?

"You have done some gardening yourself, I see." Niall squatted down and stroked the earth beneath us.

My face probably matched the roses in bloom as I realized where we were. Could he tell? Well, I'm sure he knew _some things, _and Lord knows Claude and Claudine didn't seem to have a lot of boundaries, but _still_. Just knowing we were standing where Eric and I had made love made me squirm with mortification. Let alone the possibility, even remote, that he could somehow sense what had gone on here. My brain cast about for options—

"Should we go into the kitchen and have some water? I mean, um, the living room? Oh, shoot—the porch—? Crud! Um—maybe you'd just like to go out for lunch?"

As I flailed mentally for neutral turf, Niall didn't seem to be bothered at all. "This will do." His hand stretched forward to touch the primrose. He almost seemed to smile, but it wasn't the expression most people had when they smiled. His was like a rainbow, something that misted across his elegant features, not sinking in. "Sit, my dear."

So I did, regardless of the earth beneath my legs. "Are you here because I—well, I was worrying?" I had telepathy, and Eric and I had the bond—maybe there was some fae equivalent? (If it had been Claudine, I might have joked about the existence of a "Faebook," but Niall was not the sort of jokes, I knew.)

"Perhaps." His fingers moved slowly across the flower's petals; they unfolded before him. "Delightful."

He seemed to be having more of a conversation with the flower than me, so I plunged in. I tried again to get him back to the house. At the very least, he deserved a nice sit-down and a drink. But Niall refused to budge, and he seemed inclined to the "less is more" philosophy even when we talked, too. It was nice to see family, of course, but I couldn't help but think there was something else he wanted, other than to sit in the warm grass behind my yard and let his gaze rest on flowers bowing their blossomed heads before him.

"You are happy with the Northman," he finally said, after I'd been giving him the latest on Merlotte's.

I blinked. I hadn't hidden my relationship with Eric when I spoke with Niall, but I hadn't dwelt on it, either. It just seemed awkward to do so. Even though Niall and Eric were on terms of mutual respect, they could barely be in the same room together. That was thanks to the natural conflict between fairies and vampires, but I had a feeling their personalities would have clashed, anyway. "Yes, I am."

"He is your choice."

"We're dating." The vampire marriage didn't count, according to Eric, so I wasn't going to treat it that way.

"This vampire is your man. Your heart is content with him."

"Yes?" Apparently, supernatural hearing wasn't that good.

"Very good. I shall allow it, then." There went the smile again. I wanted to remind him that it wasn't his business to allow anything, but I had the good sense to keep my tongue. Instead, I brushed an ant off my knee, wondering where his mind was. "You are a rarity, my child."

"Thanks?"

He slanted a look at me. "I thought you might wish to know this. You may find this of use in the future." He turned to touch my hand—again, a touch like a leaf stroking my skin. "You are not like the others here, my dear."

"I know that—you said I have the spark—" That's what he called the bit of magic in me that made me a telepath. I would have used other words, but they weren't always so polite.

His eyes slid skyward. "My son was seven hundred when he left us, you know."

I put my hand on his and squeezed it. Sure, he didn't seem exactly grief-stricken, but I couldn't imagine not being sad over losing your family.

"He did not die naturally, though. Who knows how long he would have lived?" Sea-green eyes drifted back to me.

"Was he murdered?" I clapped my hands to my face. "Oh! I am so sorry, forgive me, I shouldn't have asked."

His features moved into the whisper of a smile. "No, my dear. He died of something else. He lost his love. Only that killed him."

His love was my Gran. I felt a ball of pain in my throat. "Yes."

The wind drew its fingers gently through Niall's hair, exposing the peaked tip of his ear. His face was ancient, regarding mine. "Nothing but his grief ended him."

It was warm out there in the yard, but cold sweat beaded on my skin. "Is Eric in danger? Is that what you're saying?"

"No more than he finds normal." I sensed a little Fae sarcasm there, but I was too relieved to be irritated on Eric's behalf.

The narrowing of Niall's eyes drew my attention back to him. "My son was half of our kind, child. Your father did not die naturally, either." His head tipped delicately in the direction of the cemetery not so far from my house.

I was sweating again. "What are you saying, Great-Grandfather?"

He wasn't glamouring me, but his eyes held me. "Age was not their enemy. Such was the gift given them by our kind."

I sunk my nails into the earth. "If you're saying what—"

He waved languidly. "We do not know, my dear. There are no guarantees." His eyes left me and played over the perennials. "You follow your own path. Your magic is your own to make." His hands touched the earth lightly. "It would seem you already have."

"I'm a Christian," I whispered numbly. I thought of Gran and my heart stung sharply.

Niall's hand brushed over mine again, I suppose in comfort. "Has your Lord failed you before?"

I let my head fall forward in shame. I could have reeled off a bitter list, I am sure, but I swallowed that, knowing the comfort Gran's prayers had given me.

I sat there, mute and dumb, before a thought occurred to me. "Does Eric know this? Has he spoken to you about this?"

"We have not spoken of anything I say to you now. It matters not to that one. This is for you. This is for your choice."

What choice, I wanted to ask, numbly, but I couldn't get the words out. My fingers, gripping the grass, remembered Eric, and I let my breath go. I didn't need to panic—I'd been aging just like any other human, and my parents died in a flood. If any fairy magic had touched me, it had to be just the telepathy, right? Even if Niall's expression kept my pulse high?

Another thought hit me. "Jason?"

Niall's shrug was as elegant as his pressed suit. "It is unknown. As are you. There is much that is different here." His long fingers, glowing with a bit of sun, cupped the earth. "Sun, moon, earth. It is curious, is it not? All turn, all change." He fixed his eyes on me before nodding skyward again. "Even now, the immortals change. Our abilities…evolve, you will find." He almost seemed to smirk at the sun, and then he turned his attention fully back to me. "We are the same but we change. Did you know how fae bond? They give their own gifts of magic. We change one another. Is that not the way of life?"

My brain couldn't handle philosophy at the moment. I groped, instead, to find meaning in his words. "So you've come to tell me—you don't know? I could still be—like everybody else?"

"Perhaps." His hand leaned forward to cup a tomato that the wildlife had left me. "You are fruitful, my dear."

"The weather's been nice to my garden," I said automatically.

He tutted gently at me. "I did not mean your garden."

I froze. "What?"

"I did not say you were breeding, child."

I exhaled in relief.

His eyes moved over me. "Yet."

"WHAT?" I shoved myself backward from him. My gran would have smacked me with her wooden spoon for my tone, but Gran would have forgiven me this one.

He ignored me, hummed and resumed stroking, overturning the earth. "Yes, you have bonded well."

Hysteria surged in me—Pam, ransacking Toys R Us; Eric confronted by the massacre of a diaper—but then an image of a chin with a little cleft in it came to mind, and I felt sickened instead. That was far, far worse than imagining Eric visiting me, aged and wrinkled, while he looked as young and beautiful as ever. He would go on, I wouldn't, we had only so long-but this—_this._ It was too much; tears were stinging my eyes. "This is—I know what is possible and what isn't, Grandfather. So please stop. I know—I know we don't talk the same, and you don't mean to upset me, but I don't think I can handle this. I'm with Eric now and," I swallowed, "I've made my peace with what that means." I shoved a few angry tears away. What was the point of this bizarre torture? I'd resolved this. I'd never really thought I'd have children, anyway, what with the problems my own little "genetic abnormality" had granted me, and I wasn't even sure I wanted them, even if I could—I'd never really considered the possibility. I originally dated Bill because I hadn't any offers from any other guys, and at the time, I thought, why not just be happy for being loved? Why not be grateful for that little piece of joy, and not spoil it by making your life fit someone else's mold? I rubbed furiously at my face. Then again, who said a child was guaranteed with a normal guy, anyway? I remembered poor Peggy James at the bar, drinking glass after glass after the tests came back negative. Not everybody got dealt that hand, or even wanted it. I hadn't even let myself consider if I did.

I gulped down a hard, hysterical knot in my throat. I wasn't going to turn on Eric now over something we both accepted. And this was so new with us, too—who knew what would happen? Wasn't the cart being put well in front of the horse now? Still, I hiccupped a sob. My nails were pressed so hard into my palms that I'd cut myself, I observed dully, watching a little pearl of blood emerge on my palm.

I forced myself to blow out a breath. It wasn't like the idea hadn't come up before, thanks to the thoughts all of Bon Temps liked to cast my way, along with pointed comments about "wasting time on the clock! Tick tock!"

I watched the little bead of blood slide from my palm to the earth. If that was something I decided I needed in my life—and that was a big _if_—at some point long in the future, I'd find a way, and be grateful for what I had, all the same. Through eyes wet and shining, I turned to look up at my great-grandfather.

"I am grateful for all of the love I have now."

Niall smiled at me, bringing me back to his presence like a cloud exposing the sun, and for once I felt a little warmth there, a faint facsimile of Gran's pride when I'd brought home a ribbon from the first-grade spelling bee. If he were proud, he didn't say so, however. Instead he just repeated back what I'd known since long before I met Eric. "Vampires and humans cannot have children, my dear." The wind seemed to echo his words back to me: "Vampires and humans."

"I know," I whispered, before his words registered. "No! I mean, no—I don't think that's quite possible," I stammered, fumbling for a courteous way to say it. Even if Niall's implication could possibly be true, with the odds Eric and I had been playing, there was no doubt—well, we'd have known by now. Looking at Niall's patient eyes, though, something started to pump in my heart.

"But who knows, child?" He leaned over, so that his beautifully fine hair drifted to touch my cheek. "Child of moon, child of sun, child of earth?"

I froze again and he uttered a phrase in my ear, something in his own language, surely, as I hadn't a clue what he said. But an echo of Claude was in his tone, and my ears hammered with the memories of his own crude phrasing, as he had glanced over pages of Hollywood celebrities, other people's dreams:

"Okay, so fuck, magic happens, okay?"

Magic. Other people's dreams. Like Gran's.

My exclamation was worthy of Claude, not Niall. "Oh, shit!"

And then, just to prove Eric's point that fairies never bring peace in their wake, Niall winked. "But who knows?"

And he vanished, leaving me sweaty, confused, and something else, a thick beat somewhere in my chest.

It was opening up decades in my mind, opening up, like a Pandora's box I never even knew I held, ideas, emotions to be sorted out later. Opening up ideas of a later I had never allowed myself to consider. Of a future, long or short as it may be.

Of gifts, not curses.

It was hope.

"Oh, hell!"

~tstststs~

_Various AN items: To be honest, this was one of the hardest sections to write, for a list of reasons I keep writing and rewriting—so I'll just say, it was very hard and I hope it worked for you. This scene wasn't even in my original plans for the story, but I felt like these points needed to be covered somehow before we close the story. Also, I'd put down Pam's play list from the previous chapter, but I think it's fairly clear. (Even to poor Eric.) Coming up in the next chapter: You don't think I'd stop Pam from throwing her boyfriend/girlfriend party, do you? ;) And thank you, as ever, for your thoughts! I appreciate them very much._


	87. Chapter 87

_AN: So, a little confession: I sometimes dream sections of this story. They come to me in flashes that I then mull over/obsess over (during the days) and finally work out in front of my computer. Well, after the prior chapter, I was ready to gather myself to take up the end sequence (meant to be a chapter, maybe a little longer), which includes, as I noted before, Pam's party._

_Buuuuut….my brain had other ideas. It would not shut up, and so you're getting a little bit more than I expected. You get this, another chapter (probably not as long), and then, if my brain will stick to the Game Plan, Pam's party. (She's getting her party, because who is going to stand in her way, really?) _

_(Sorry for being so wordy! I don't think anybody's complaining that I'm adding in chapters, but I still feel like I ought to explain these adjustments as we go, especially given how I left you hanging for so long! We are going in the right direction, I promise; we're just taking a wee bit longer to get there, as I want to do it right.)_

~tstststs~

"But who knows, child?" He leaned over, so that his beautifully fine hair drifted to touch my cheek. "Child of moon, child of sun, child of earth?"

I froze again and he uttered a phrase in my ear, something in his own language, surely, as I hadn't a clue what he said. But an echo of Claude was in his tone, and my ears hammered with the memories of his own crude phrasing, as he had glanced over pages of Hollywood celebrities, other people's dreams:

"Okay, so fuck, magic happens, okay?"

Magic. Other people's dreams. Like Gran's.

My exclamation was worthy of Claude, not Niall. "Oh, shit!"

And then, just to prove Eric's point that fairies never bring peace in their wake, Niall winked. "But who knows?"

And he vanished, leaving me sweaty, confused, and something else, a thick beat somewhere in my chest.

It was opening up decades in my mind, opening up, like a Pandora's box I never even knew I held, ideas, emotions to be sorted out later. Opening up ideas of a later I had never allowed myself to consider. Of a future, long or short as it may be.

Of gifts, not curses.

It was hope.

"Oh, hell!"

~tstststs~

I sat on the grass, trying to breathe. The yard looked the same. The flowers looked normal. The grass scratched my legs again, and the dirt beneath it had a few little rocks.

But for the earthquake going on in my mind, you'd think I hadn't just had my life turned upside-down by a fairy.

(Again.)

A Stackhouse whose life had been changed by a fairy—

What was it with this yard and fairies?

I pushed air into my lungs slowly, like they did in the yoga videos Tara and I had tried a few times. The lady in the video had promised us we would gain incredible abs and deep relaxation if we did this, no matter our problems. Tara and I had laughed throughout the video, so maybe our bellies felt sore from giggling, not the workout, but we were at least pretty relaxed afterwards. Maybe the bendy lady's words of wisdom would help now?

It didn't, but I wasn't sure a whole mountain of _ommms_ would have settled this uproar.

I shook myself and forced myself back to my seat. I really wanted to talk to someone, but my options were limited. The person I most wanted to talk to was (mostly) dead for the day—and I wasn't going to start off this conversation through texting or brief phone chats.

And of course, what could I say to him? I wrapped my hands around the lemonade glass, hoping its coolness would ease the burning I kept feeling. Eric might be thrilled with Niall's hints about my lifeline. (I wasn't being arrogant. We'd had a talk, long ago, about the future, especially given how prone I was to being in dangerous situations, and while Eric had accepted I didn't want to be turned, he definitely wasn't happy about that. So I had a feeling he wouldn't mind keeping me around longer.)

But what if I did tell Eric what Niall said—and what if Niall were just toying with me, with Eric, for whatever reason?

And what if—well, the idea of a baby. Niall himself didn't know if what he said was possible—why ask Eric to consider it? And Eric had been a father, before he'd turned—what kind of cruelty would it be, to suggest to Eric that possibility, if it weren't real?

And what if I didn't know what I'd say if he liked the idea? I let my mind drift automatically to what I knew. He definitely liked kids. He didn't like talking too much about his children but when he did, I could tell losing them was the saddest part of his turning. And of course I'd even seen him interact with kids, and not just when we'd walked over to Toys R Us to scout for more of his "collectible figurines." Fangtasia even maintained "family" hours on Halloween, in case any Shreveport kids wanted to trick or treat there. Eric even made all of the staff dress up properly in costume. That included all of the vampires, who were not thrilled by this. (The first time I saw Pam in her shepherdess outfit, she'd shaken her crook at me in rage and I decided not to comment on her, or Eric's, selection. Even though Felicia's lamb outfit had made me nearly choke on my giggles.) I'd even asked him why he bothered. I had expected it was some very long-range customer acquisition plan. Instead he just said, "The small humans are demanding, selfish, insubordinate and ruthless. Just like Pam!" And he'd winked.

I sighed and sipped my drink, wishing it were more of a Jane Bodehouse special than just plain ol' lemons and sugar.

It was time to get a grip and figure out a next step, just like any good Stackhouse would. We got knocked over sometimes, sure, but we always got back up.

The lifeline issue—I had no control over that, I figured. I didn't have to do anything about it immediately, so I wouldn't worry about it just yet.

The other big issue—well. I was on the pill and had been since Gran had heard one too many stories about what went on behind the bleachers at Bon Temps High School. I hadn't been back there, of course, but just about every other girl in school had, and that was enough for Gran. At first I thought she only cared about those stories because of Jason, who was, well, Jason. I remember he was "treated" to a Very Special Talk which made him flee to his room for the rest of the afternoon. (When I checked on him, he'd only lift his head from beneath his pillow to cry, "I think Gran broke my johnson!") Whatever she'd done had worked, at least, because for all of Jason's escapades, I hadn't found myself an aunt yet.

If I thought Jason was the sole focus of her intervention, I was wrong. She had taken me, red-faced and traumatized, to visit a clinic in Shreveport. (She thought I'd be less likely to see someone I knew there, and therefore less likely to be embarrassed.) I remembered the determinedly dignified look on her face as she sat down in the waiting room and told me (squirming with mortification), "I know you are a good girl, Sookie, but I won't be putting you at risk. You will be a woman soon, and you should know that women must protect their bodies."

I wished myself through the floor that day, but she had a point.

Since that time, I'd dutifully driven to the clinic in Shreveport. That included when I started dating Bill, and onwards. Granted, given my limited dating and the kinds of suitors I had, I was hardly making use of the chief purpose of the pill, but it made me feel responsible, and it addressed some of my other physical issues.

And so, yes, I had that covered, even if Eric and I suddenly…could. But it wasn't perfect. And—I hunched in my chair, almost able to see Gran's look of disappointment—I'd not been perfect about taking it, either. Part of it was my own fault—my lifestyle of late had caused me to move around a lot, forgetting things—and part of it was, well, money. I already went to the clinic to get the lowest cost birth control, but that didn't mean there weren't times when I hadn't been running a little short of funds and I hadn't…waited a bit longer than I should have, before picking up a new supply.

(Maybe this was the sort of thing you could ask a boyfriend to help you with, but even when Eric and I had started dating, it just didn't seem right. It was my responsibility, and it wasn't like I was taking it for our relationship, after all.)

I sighed. That's why I knew we'd played the odds, and so far—nothing. Granted, I hadn't messed up _that _often, and I had tried to be careful to do everything right when I did—but still.

I took a sip of my lemonade and steeled myself to the facts again. If Niall's fancy had any truth to it, I was at least protected, even if I hadn't been completely perfect before this. I'd just have to do better in the future, until I had enough of a handle on my own feelings to tell Eric.

I sighed again. I probably wouldn't know those feelings for a long time off yet, but I'd tell Eric soon.

~tstststs~

I found myself driving towards the drugstore almost on autopilot.

I don't really know what got me there. At first, I'd grabbed Jason's cookies, planning on running a few errands as a way to distract myself from the problems at hand. But that didn't quite work. I'd called Tara—busy. I'd called Claudine and got no answer at all, just a message that had her singing along, in a ridiculously charming voice, to "It's a Small World After All." I'd just hung up on her when the Batmobile's car/phone system alerted me to an incoming call.

"Beautiful One, your Hunk of Man is calling," the Batmobile's newly installed phone assistant interrupted my thoughts.

"Missing me, lover?" Eric's voice filled the cabin. I may have squirmed a little in my seat, I admit it.

"I don't know, sounds like the car might miss you more," I shot back, earning myself a laugh. "I should never leave you alone with anything I handle. Wait, don't say it."

"I am thinking it."

"Somehow, I knew that one." I turned down Maypole Avenue. That's when I had the idea that I'd just drive around a bit and then stop at the drugstore after Eric went back to sleep. They always had a good clearance rack there. "So what's up?"

"It seems a certain person has been having a most unsettling day. Are you well?"

"Peachy." I may have popped the "p" a little too aggressively, but I was keeping an eye on traffic, after all. "I just heard some things, that's all." I didn't like keeping him in the dark, but dropping major bombshells on him when he'd be forced to sleep any second now just seemed wrong. "Nothing to worry about, small stuff."

"Hmm, what's that?" I heard him tap the phone. "There appears to be a significant amount of bullshit in this connection, Sookie."

Lying to Eric just wasn't going to work. "Can we talk about this later? Please?"

He growled. "We will, my lover." And then came a pause, just as I felt relief from being temporarily let off the hook: "So what are you wearing?"

Despite Eric's enthusiastic attempts to break me in to phone sex, I'd manage to escape the car without breaking a sweat. (Although the Batmobile's air conditioning system worked really well, I'd discovered.) I'd even managed to visit the drugstore, although that was a minor disaster. Wandering around the aisles, my mind started to wander, too. The health aisle brought back all of my questions from earlier. I'd started wondering if Eric and I should take other precautions, given how inconsistent I'd been about my own side of birth control. But what else could be done? Should I talk to Dr. Ludwig? Would Eric even be willing to do anything else? _Could _he even do anything else? And there were all of these choices for condoms alone—from materials to textures to sizes—and I hardly knew what to look at, given my own limited sexual history. I considered all of this, chewing my lip, until I glanced up at the security mirrors and saw something I really didn't like.

Alcide Herveaux, gaping at me from the end of the aisle.

Alcide Herveaux, gaping at me because I was standing in front of the big display of condoms.

Which vampires didn't need, of course.

My face was probably as red as Eric's Corvette as I spun around—and found myself facing the incontinence products.

Great.

Either I was sleeping around on Eric or I'd truly lost all control south of the border, apparently.

With as much dignity as I could muster, I turned back to Alcide. "Why, hi, Alcide, how are you doing?"

"Just stopping in for a few things and I thought I saw you, thought I'd have a word when I could. Didn't want to disturb you, though—seems you had a few things on your mind."

I stammered wordlessly, not quite sure what to say.

Meanwhile, Alcide had hooked his thumbs in his beltloops and he strolled a little closer. "Need some help?"

"No, just, ah, wandering around and wool-gathering. Waiting for a prescription, you know how it is." At Alcide's look at the condoms and then myself—well, and the very loud, "_What the hell?" _that erupted from his mind—I wanted to slap myself.

_Incontinent, sleeping around, and now, stricken with an STD. _

"Um, that came out badly—I meant, just a _regular _prescription. Not that kind." I don't think that did a very good job of clearing up things, but Alcide at least nodded. He perked up enough to regroup, planting a hand by the rather extensive condoms and personal supplies display.

"Well, just wanted to say—didn't think Northman would be letting you go, but if you need any help—if there's anything you think you're missing-" His head inclined infinitesimally to the display.

That was not the smoothest line I'd heard, but given where we stood, I doubt he could have done better. "I'm fine, thanks," I muttered.

"You sure?" Alcide's eyes kept flipping between the display and my flaming face.

Really, didn't the nearby pet aisle distract him? At all?

"Real sure, Alcide."

He kept giving me his intense look, and maybe once it would have worked, but right now—no. "Well, I just talked to some of my guys and I'm going to email you some more estimates."

"Sure, that'd be great!" I don't know that I'd normally be that excited about talking about estimates, but it sure beat talking about my sex life.

"Think we can make it pretty big—big enough for a truck." Alcide looked at me meaningfully.

I fought back an inelegant "Huh?" Well, Jason had a truck. Most of the men in Bon Temps did, come to think of it. And—_uh-oh._

My brain didn't shut up, much as I wanted it to. Most of the men in Bon Temps owned trucks, sure—_and so did Alcide. _

Who was currently smiling at me and trying really hard to keep his bicep flexed as he leaned in on me.

_Uh-oh, Stackhouse. Red-alert, red-alert, you're getting hit on_.

Why hadn't any of this happened when I was in high school, I wondered, not for the first time. My mouth, unable to voice that thought, just opened and closed, looking for words. "Ahhh…."

Alcide was not put off by my startled deer impression. "Just thought I'd put it out there—since you might be shopping around. I thought about it and I think it could be real good for both of us." His eyes flicked back to the display. "Size isn't a problem."

Oh, _gross_. Maybe I'd been with Eric too long and my innuendo radar was going overtime, but just—_ick_. Pack life had not suited Alcide well at all.

Maybe that would explain why he wasn't so horrified by the idea of an STD, come to think of it. Lord knows what all of those types got up to in the forest, after all. Other than sitting around and apparently thinking about nasty metaphors comparing a car-park to my—my—my—_wah-hoo_.

Just _ick._

"Just so long as it fits Eric's Corvette," I shot back tartly, and wheeled away from him before I said anything too rude. Apparently realizing he had walked over a line, Alcide had put his hands up in defense, calling, "Just putting it out there!" as I headed away.

I stomped around the corner, still red-faced, and nearly ran into a suspicious-eyed Maxine Fortenberry, clutching a bag of nuts to her heart as she'd leaned in on us.

_Oh, great. Make that incontinent, sleeping around, picking up Alcide, and hit with an STD._

She hustled after me, huffing, so fast I had to slow down, just out of pity's sake. I bit my lip to stop her thoughts from invading mine—tawdry scenarios of myself, tarted up in a miniskirt and plunging neckline, leaving a pack of drooling men, including a smirking Eric, to make a come-hither gesture at Hoyt.

I snorted.

No offense to poor Hoyt, of course.

"Sookie Stackhouse, I saw that!"

"I am not sure what you mean, Mrs. Fortenberry?" Crazy Sookie Smile was firmly in place, but About to Be Really Angry Sookie was just beneath it.

(No matter how much I prayed for patience on Sundays, sometimes—well, a lot of the time—I just didn't achieve that goal. Eric and I weren't too different in that respect, I had to admit.)

"You doing something that would shame your Gran?"

Images flashed through my mind, but the one that lingered was the nervous hand holding mine above a blanket one night. A little anchor in a lonely world, that's what that hand had wanted.

And given.

"Actually," I said, and I suddenly knew it to be true, "She'd be really proud."

And I walked out.

~tstststs~

That's how I ended up in my car, not sure what road to go.

"Lord have mercy." I had flopped myself into the heat-baked Batmobile and cranked up the air conditioner. I allowed myself a moment to tap my forehead against the steering wheel in frustration. I'd feel a lot better if I just had some answers, but they didn't sell those at the corner drugstore.

(Not to the kind of questions I had, anyway.)

I pulled out my phone and stared at it. Did this count as an emergency, one worthy of calling Niall? "Hello, Great-grandfather, I've lost my mind thanks to your vagueness, could you please tell me what you meant?"

I had a horrible feeling he'd been actively trying to be clear—which meant he could only become more vague.

I sighed. I needed a good Niall-to-English translator. Inspiration grabbed me and started pushing in Claudine's numbers. More than once, even. But she still wasn't answering, wouldn't you know. The only fairy who could speak sense and translate Niall for me, and she was incommunicado!

And that's when a lightning bolt hit me. (Well, figuratively. Let's not give the Good Lord any ideas.) There was another fairy who could speak straight to me. (Although he himself wasn't straight.) With the right coaxing…And that led me to requisition Jason's cookies, still in their Tupperware container, for a recon mission.

That's how I pulled into Hooligan's. It was still daytime, so the club was shut down. If you tried calling their main line, as I had, you just a message that said, "Sorry, but the party don't start until 7. Or unless you have seven K to drop—or seven inches.…"

My cousin was really charming.

I'd tried calling, anyway, but as expected, I got no answer. I wasn't sure I'd even get an answer when I was there—but at least I'd brought my own secret weapon from home. I adjusted the Tupperware on the car seat before it slid off and thought ahead.

I didn't expect the club to open its front door to woman pounding on it—given the clientele, I imagined that was a normal day around Hooligan's. So I pulled around back and marched up to the employee door. As I'd guessed, based on my own experience at Merlotte's, the door was left unlocked. (You would think of any restaurant in Louisiana, Merlotte's would figure out how to keep the employee door locked, but nope.) That left me in a narrow hallway and a bit of a quandary—what if I walked in the wrong door and came across the "dressing room"? There was music booming ahead, and I could hear a man's voice yelling in the middle of it, so I decided to just try to follow the music.

Thankfully, that led me to the stage. Or not so thankfully, as I ended walking into the wings as Claude was directing some kind of act. The dancers were mostly dressed—long shorts and tanks, even gym shoes. But one of them wasn't.

"I got it online! It's the newest thing! It's a C-string!" he was saying. The other dancers were staring at him in shock. I couldn't blame them. He was wearing some bright little pocket on his….business, and he was doing some kind of weird body roll.

"See, you can still work the worm and it won't fall off!"

Claude hadn't even noticed me because everyone was watching the (nearly) naked dancer.

"But where can the people stuff the bills?" Another guy was angling his head to check out the dancer's rear bits. My brain started to take this in a very interesting direction, but Mr. Pocket spun around enthusiastically and pointed at his tush instead. A bright piece of fabric or wire—I wasn't sure which—ran up the middle of his rump. Apparently, I gathered, it was linked to the pocket in the front, and that's it. "It's like a thong without the sides," said Pocket happily. "You still have the ass bit here, they could tuck it in there. They might even like it more." One of the dancers tucked something—a napkin?—into the wire bit, and Mr. Pocket demonstrated a booty-pop.

"It holds!"

"I'll be damned!"

"Not a lot of room, though."

"Will we get closed down for this?"

"I don't care what you guys say, I'm not having a wire stab me in the ass."

"Fuckin' hot!"

"I still don't get how it stays on!"

"With the stage oil we use, that thing's going to drop right off."

"I'm gay and no, that's not hot _anywhere_. That shit won't fly. Look, no woman's going to want to stuff her hand in your asshole, Gage."

"Since we've got estrogen here, let's ask it. What do you think, Cousin?"

Claude's voice made me jump. I realized all of the dancers were staring at me, apparently expecting me to react in a crazed hormonal mess at the sight of the 99.9% naked Mr. Pocket/Gage. But then again, if you're a zookeeper and you bring the feed the animals every day, I guess it would be reasonable to expect the lions to come running when you approach their cage.

Gage looked at me pleadingly—for what, I wasn't sure. Definitely not for putting my hand _there_.

I had to side with his buddy on that one.

"Um, well. That's…something." Something I hoped Eric would never buy, that's for sure, despite his inclination for scandalous underthings. I guess I was a bit too quiet, thinking about Eric, because abruptly, Gage's thoughts hit me hard—he was real sad, thinking that maybe he'd had one too many protein bars and that was the reason I wasn't throwing myself on him.

"Well, it's just really sexy, I mean. I can barely think." I waved my hand in front of my face—which I needed, given that my face was about as red as a True Blood just then. "I—I feel faint, really."

"Then go." Claude rolled his eyes. "Fine, Gage, show 'em the routine." He started handing out small packages to the other guys, who promptly began to rip off—

"Hey!" I turned around quickly.

"What do you expect, we're trying to rehearse something here," Claude grumbled. "Gage is the only one who has worn one of these ass-sticks before."

"I just want to talk to you!"

"I'll talk if you get your man to wear one of these." Claude tossed one of the horrible undie-wire-things at me. I shrieked a little, I'm not proud to say. "And get me a picture."

"No can do." Okay, I probably could do—Eric's taste in underwear was so ridiculous at times that I doubted this would phase him at all—but I wasn't giving him strip club gear from God-knows-where. Even if he couldn't get what Bill had once awkwardly described as "social diseases," I wasn't doing that to Eric. "But I have something else."

"Video?"

I shot him a glare from the corner of my eyes. Secret weapon time, it was. "Chunky chocolate cookies. My gran's recipe." Out of some unknown instinct, I pulled back the Tupperware lid.

You really wouldn't think chocolate would have had that much of an impact on a room full of heavily muscled athletes, but the soft exclamation from the room reminded me a lot of when Eric would walk into Fangtasia.

"You bitch!" Claude exclaimed, before yelling back at the others. "Don't the rest of you look!" He hauled me off stage. I knew where we were going—his office. Behind us, I felt a wave of sorrow—

_Oh, shit, I'm so fat._

_I haven't had chocolate for years. Fuck my life._

_Is a six-pack really worth it?_

_Wasn't she here the night the hot guy in leather pants was here? I know he had an eye for me, I just know it. Why hasn't he come back?_

_What if I run a few extra miles tonight?_

_Stop it, Gage! You know it's one and you're off the wagon again!_

_I need to go and get some Oreos pronto. Fuck my genes._

_How the hell am I going to wear that wired cock sock thing and eat like that? At least with a thong you can hide things—well, I guess you can't—_

_That protein bar this morning tasted like shit. I'm so sick of food that tastes like shit. _

_Gage has nicer thighs than me. I bet he gets to eat a cookie. Asshole._

_Cookies like my grams used to make…_

"Fuck you for trying to fatten up my crew!" Claude snarled as we stomped into his office. It was a mess, like Claude himself, and it featured a large poster of Claude and his men, all naked in a line, with strategically positioned baseball bats and a few baseballs cupped in their hands. "They haven't had fucking sugar since 2005! You can't have asses like that and pack down empty calories!" I felt bad—I'd heard enough from Tara about how much it sucked to diet when Lafayette would sit next to her, polishing off a cupcake. I made a mental note to try to find a way to make one of Gran's desserts healthier. Maybe I could send over some apple-sauce cookies to make things a little better for the Hooligan's guys.

"Now give me a fucking cookie!" I wasn't sure if Claude didn't have to play by the same caloric rule as regular humans (my weight certainly didn't benefit from Gran's indiscretion), but knowing Claude, he probably didn't care. He sighed to himself as I slipped a cookie out of the Tupperware and handed it over slowly.

I was tempted just to give him half, but the chocolate kick-started his tongue, anyway. "So what do you want?" He licked a crumb from his finger, closing his eyes. "You ruthless bitch."

"Keep sweet-talking me and I'll take the cookies back. I need to know about Niall."

"Whatabouthim?" Crumbs sprayed from his mouth. Claude and Jason shared some eating techniques, I noticed.

"He visited me and said some weird things. I need clarification."

Claude rolled his eyes, but I expected as much at that. "So you interrupt my rehearsal for that?" He made a gesture for another cookie—kind of like when Arlene's little boy Coby had been a baby and used to make a pulling-apart gesture for more food.

Claude, handsome as he was, was no Coby. I gave him a look.

"Fine, ask and I'll translate. Just give me more."

I tore off half of a cookie and put it on the desk. "He said fairies live long lives, I think. Forever? At least, longer than humans?"

"No shit." Claude was pretty much licking the cookie in an amorous fashion and I decided not to look.

"Does that include me?"

"Did he say?"

"No, he just said he didn't know or something like that."

"If he knew for sure he'd say." I peeked over and Claude was at least eating now. "If he even talked about it, it means he thinks it's likely something's going to happen. So, yeah, you're not going to be a normal human." He grabbed his water off his desk for a quick slug. "Next?"

I slid over another small piece, and another question. "But he looks older than you. What does that mean?"

"Whatever we want it to mean. He _is_ older than me, but we can freeze our age at any point after we're adults. I prefer my package now." Claude managed to fondle (fondly) his own abdomen.

I tore off another piece of cookie to bring him back to our discussion. "Can fairies have babies?"

"What does that mean? How the fuck do you think I got here, then? Are mortals that stupid? Let me clear this up, then—my mother got fucked."

I was tempted to throw Claude's water in his face but since he looked so offended at the idea his mother _hadn't_ been having sex, I figured we had both successfully offended the other.

"Um, I meant with non-fairies."

Claude looked at me. "Duh. How did _you_ get here?"

Well, okay, I walked into that one. "I meant, um….more than humans and fairies."

Claude's eyes narrowed. "What did Niall say?"

Here's where it got tricky. I really, really didn't want to set Claude off on thinking about what _I _was thinking, as that just seemed private. So I fixed on my best poker face and said, "He thought I might get a baby from somewhere and I figured he might want me to adopt a fairy baby—some kind of fairy mix that had to stay here." I was tempted to throw in another kind of Supe as a red herring, but I figured that would be too obvious. Or lead Claude to think I was going to take up with another Supe on the side.

Claude shrugged. "Whatever Niall said. We're good at sex, so he could turn up at your doorstep with any kind of brat. If it's got the parts, we can get the job done. That's it? Give me another cookie."

Cookies were not a "sometime food," for Claude. I guess they didn't have _Sesame Street_ in Fae when he grew up. I slid over another piece.

"He talked about giving gifts, marrying, I think?"

"What _were_ you guys talking about?" Claude shot me a look, but I distracted him with another piece of cookie. "Marrying a fae? Don't expect me not to try to tap Northman if you ditch him."

I gritted my teeth and tried valiantly not to imagine Claude choking on his cookie. "Just tell me what it means, please."

"Fine. There are two things. Most of us, if you meet the one you think is your bondmate, you have crazy sex with them." My expression must have registered my doubt about this insight, given that was pretty much Jason's explanation for every unwise sexual encounter he'd ever had (at least, that he'd told me). Claude continued on. "I mean, you suddenly feel the need to get really natural with them. You go somewhere safe and you try to get close to nature. It's instinctive." Claude pointed at the tips of his ears, hidden beneath his haircut. Even though he'd had surgery to make them a little less obviously different, they still looked a bit different from your usual human's. "And then you screw like rabbits in heat." Claude leered. What a romantic. "That's bonding. It only happens when you're dead set on the other person and he's dead set on you, too, for the long haul. Our Book says it has to be 'one in heart and one in flesh, forever,' or whatever the fuck that means."

"And the gifts?"

"Oh, that's kind of a benefit. It actually starts before. Part of your magic rubs off on him, and starts a process. It's like you're preparing the other person for the big whammy. You had that look before."

"What?" I was glad I wasn't the one eating, or there'd have been cookie bits all over Claude's desk.

"What?" He yawned. "Are we done yet?"

Desperate times called for desperate measures. I waved a cookie and opened my mouth. "No, but this cookie is about to be done. In my mouth."

"Bitch." He glared at me. "So fine, yeah, after Vegas." He shrugged. "I thought it was fucking weird, too, that you were throwing off the glow, since I know what fae you hang with, and sorry, Cuz, but you are not fucking me. Maybe your br-"

I decided to break in before I heard anything I really, really didn't need to hear. "I think we can agree to that."

His eyes were slits. Apparently, it was offensive to be turned down, even if 1.) the other side was family and 2.) you had no sexual interest at all in the other side. "Anyway, you're a freak, I thought."

"Thanks, cousin."

"Who the fuck knows. Maybe your bonding button's broken or something, if you're starting to go off around people who aren't going to take you to the ground." Something about that wording made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, but I ignored it. I was misreading things.

Claude shrugged again. "Even with normal full-bloods, a little bit of the glow doesn't mean you are going to take the final step. Even I've started the transfer—never got to the big whammy." He made another "more" gesture and I slid over just a quarter of a cookie. (Because I was still irritated by that "freak" comment, I'll admit.) "Anyway, you start seeing the big benefits of the gift-exchange after the bonding—the exchange starts developing faster. Essentially, your bonding finds a way to give your man something he wants."

"Like a tie?"

Claude snorted and almost choked on his cookie. "No, it's an ability, and it's not something conscious. It's something he wants, it's magic, fuck if I know. I know it doesn't change his essence, though, or that would fuck up the whole bonding. So you can't magically give him a bigger dick, even if you fall for a tiny dick guy." Claude looked momentarily sad at this tragedy. "Unless he really wants a bigger dick, I guess, but that's about it. Has to be something the other side wants, has to not change the other side fundamentally, and it just sort of comes out on its own. You don't have to make a decision about it. Not like your shitty winter holiday presents." Claude shot me another look. He had sent me a gift certificate for a gas station for Christmas, and only after I'd sent him a nice picture frame with a photo of Claudine in it. "It's one of the ways you know the bonding happened."

"What? You don't know right away?"

"Well, it's not like you're having a bunch of people over to watch you screw for hours on end. Like I said, it's not a formal ceremony. You just get carried away, it feels right, you only stop 'cause your dick's about to fall off or you have to." Claude sighed. "I haven't had it happen to me, yet. But I haven't met Mr. Right yet. Fucking Brad Pitt." He sighed again. "Anyway, in a fae bonding, you turn up with an extra happy benefit, and so does he. And bam, you're bonded. Only ends if one dies or there's a formal separation." He looked, torn, at the box in my hands, so I handed him another cookie.

"So it's a marriage? That's how fairies marry?"

"No, that's bonding. Like human marriage, but there's another option." He grunted. "Shit, my ass is going to be huge after this." He chomped on the cookie. I tried not to wipe the crumbs off the desk judgmentally. Gran would not have liked that. "Maybe bonding's like a marriage to most of us, but you can still get married in a ceremony. That's just political for us, though." I must've blinked, as the idea of fae politics was a little beyond me. Of course, I'd had to endure the idea of the secret vamp monarchies in the US, too. "Fine, we'll do this the slow way." His tone indicated he didn't think I could handle a faster one. "If someone fucks with you, do you think Niall's going to sit on his ass?"

He actually had—or at least, my definition of "fucking with me" was different from Niall's. I remembered a few frantic prayers for survival when no fairy prince showed up to rescue me, although a fanged one definitely did. I frowned, and Claude groaned. "Look, a fairy comes and starts something. You think Niall will be okay with that?"

Oh, well, that was easier. "Definitely not."

"That's what I mean. If you marry a fairy, Niall would have to sign off on it, since it's all political shit. It's just a contract stating who accepts what responsibilities for having your back, that kind of thing. So whenever I find my man, Niall will sign off on our contract, too, to make sure there's not going to be any political blow-back." He had too much fun saying "blow-back," I figured, and I raised an eyebrow worthy of Eric at him. "But if I decide to keep Gage, then I don't have to do that, because there's no political shit attached when a fairy marries a human. Contracts only come out when there's political shit involved."

"Can they force you into a marriage?" I worried. Niall seemed to like me, but we just didn't speak the same language. Who knew what he thought was a good idea?

Claude gulped more water, smacking his lips. "Hell, no. What's the point of being supernatural if you're not free?" He had a point there. That was probably one of the reasons Eric loved being a vampire-he always did love his freedom, I knew.

I sighed with relief. All that was one less worry, anyway. I wasn't going to be married off against my will, and all the talk of marriage exchanges were based on two fairies-not a situation I'd ever been in, or was likely to be in.

"Well, thank you for your thoughts, Claude, you've been real helpful," I finally said, handing Claude one last treat.

"I can say it's almost been a pleasure." Claude fell back into the chair with an ecstatic moan. "_Damn_, these cookies are good."

~tstststs~

I took my leave of Hooligan's then, giving Claude the rest of the cookies as a thank-you. (I'd just have to give over the remaining cookies from my baking to Jason, I figured. I didn't need more than a cookie or two for myself, anyway.)

(Benefits of dating a vampire: He didn't eat your food.

Downside of having a brother: He did.)

My mind was still out of sorts, though. I was off work tonight (I'd flipped hours with Hollie, to accommodate her little boy's t-ball schedule), so why wait around Bon Temps?

That's when I turned the Batmobile toward Shreveport.

It was still daylight, of course, when I pulled in to Eric's driveway, but I felt better being near him all the same.

So too apparently did his neighbor. Before I could climb out of the Batmobile, Eric's scantily clad neighbor came flying out of her door, grabbing a bucket near her walkway and keeping her eyes trained on the car.

Really, did she ever work?

(I opted not to think about how Sam would react to that comment.)

I'd exited the car by the time my old friend of the "Foxy" short-shorts had arranged herself across the trunk of her car, in theory "washing" it. Her washing it was a lot like some music videos' ideas of washing cars, as best I could tell, and I fought my desire to glare at her. I failed, I'm pretty sure, when I realized she was remembering another night. Eric had backed the Corvette out of the garage and he'd apparently noticed a bird spot on it. With a comment I knew pretty well to be a Viking curse, he had gone into the house, then came out in nothing but basketball shorts about to fall down his hips. Glaring at the besmirching mark on the sacred Corvette, he had fumbled with a hose until pointing it properly at the offending spot. (In another moment, I'd have snickered at his efforts—whoever did the regular washing and waxing of the Corvette definitely wasn't Eric—but right then, seeing her covetous memory taking in his marvelously long torso, I was proud he hadn't squirted himself in the eye.)

"Oh, hello," Foxy said sullenly to me, deflating a bit against her car. Guess it wasn't that much fun to get soap all over your chest when a soaked Eric wasn't present to appreciate it.

(He'd better not, that's all I had to say.)

"Howdy." I beamed at Foxy with the full power of my smile. It was the same as when Gran would catch Jason and I as kids fighting over some toy. Butter wouldn't melt in my mouth. "Nice day, huh?"

"Real nice," she agreed. She flicked a glance to the front door, and then back at the Batmobile. You could almost see the thought process in her head. (Charity was not my strong suit just then.) "Something wrong with Leif? You driving his car?"

I pretended coyness. "Well, our car, really. He likes me to drive it." I giggled girlishly. Thank goodness Eric couldn't hear any of this, or he'd have been gloating insufferably. "He's so generous to me!"

Foxy smiled through thin lips. You didn't have to be a mind reader to know she was calling me a bitch in her mind. "He's a sure nice fellow."

"Oh, he is." I smiled. I gave her a little look as I patted the car. "And I'm sure glad he's mine." (I felt a pang as I realized just how much fun it was to say that phrase. No wonder Bill and Eric had always tussled over it.)

Foxy leaned over the car a little more, still smiling thinly. "You all serious?"

"Deadly." I may have bared my teeth in my smile. I'm sure it was very friendly.

"Well, you keep him, girl. He's a good one." Foxy gave me her grimacing grin again. "Wouldn't want to let him get away. A girl could just snatch him up!" And she laughed a little, high and falsely, imagining all the different ways she could "snatch him up."

Bitch.

(I told you my prayers for patience sometimes went unanswered.)

I smiled back at Foxy. "Oh, they could try." I winked. "But they'd have to go through me first, and where he's concerned-well, you can sure bet I'm going to win."

~tststststs~

Maybe it was because of the run-in with Foxy, or maybe just because Eric's proximity drew me in like a satellite hugged inward by the earth's gravity, but I made my way through the house, through the light-tight entries, to the back bedroom. To Eric. It would be a long while before he rose for the night, but something called me to him.

He was belly down in bed, limbs limp, face turned to the side. Still a bit traumatized by Hooligan's, I let my eyes wander downwards (just for curiosity, of course) to note that by the edge of waistband I saw peeking above the sheets, he appeared to be wearing dark boxers. No awful experimental undies, thank goodness. (At least, not yet. I made a mental note to double-check my purse and the car and make sure Claude hadn't slipped in any parting "presents.")

Tossing a forgotten sock into the hamper, I sat on the bed next to him. His phone, at the ready by his hand, was buzzing with a lengthy message from Bobby, Eric's day man. The flashing words caught my eyes before I could stop myself from reading them. "Paperwork rec'd from B. Investments. Msgr said to say it is agreement. Need final signature. Appt for 10:30 tonight. Best suits r pressed, will be at bar. Will get F'sia ready."

Huh. "Wonder what's that about." I shrugged (best sometimes to let sleeping vampires lie, so to speak) and directed my eyes away from the phone, and back to the man next to me.

He'd heard all of my problems once, I remembered, reaching out to brush some hair from his face. We'd sat by the fireplace and talked for hours.

"You wouldn't believe my day," I found myself saying. "I can deal with a lot and you've always said that. Guess you're right, but don't think I'll be saying that all of the time!" I slid down in the bed, facing him. His lips were gentle and relaxed, I saw. They presented a soft, almost innocent, contrast with the very masculine stubble across the hard line of his jaw. "Oh, and tell your neighbor to back off. She doesn't seem to get the message you're a taken man, buster. Although you probably love the attention." I reached out and put my palm over the hand resting flat by the pillow. "I wish I knew how you'd react to everything else, though. I think we're good but I just wish I knew—I mean, I _know_ how you'd react if I—if I had a better expiration rate." I smiled wistfully and squeezed his flat hand. "But what about kids? How would you feel about that? Is this some kind of game of Niall's? Some kind of test?" Niall did have some bizarre ideas of helpful presents, after all. "What if—what if I did want them? Even to adopt? I never thought of it before, but maybe we should talk about it sometime. We never did do any conventional dating talk, I guess. Hard to fit around everything else!" I sighed and gave him another little squeeze. "So maybe we should have that talk, although how we could do it, I wouldn't know. I just wish I knew where you stood on these things. How would you do with a baby, Eric? Would you want a child?" I leaned forward a little, lifting his hand to plant a little kiss on it. I eased back to the sheets, glancing back—

—To see blue eyes open and looking right at me.

"What's this about a child, Sookie?"

~tststststs~

_AN #2: Thank you, thank you, thank you, for your comments and your support! I don't get to answer them all (time, bleh, the eternal problem), but I do appreciate them from the bottom of my heart. _

_I would like to recommend you check out the story contest, I Write the Songs. The stories are all great so far! You'll have to cut out the extra spaces from my URL below to get there, but you can see the rules here. Feel free to read, review, and write! :)  
_

_ fanfiction net /u/2491610/I-Write-The-Songs_


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